This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


SOt.       -  iCH 

UNIVERSi 

LIBRARY 

LOS    ANGELES,  CAL!!-. 


Wee  Macgreegor 


By  J.  J.  Bell 


Harper  &  Brothers  Publishers 
New  York  and  London 


r*  or  n  o 

to      •».«(    S-"    fj    ,W 


Printed  in  th«  United  StatM  of  America 

B-T 


B 


To 

Michael  Graham 


Glossary 


ABIN,  above 
ABLOW,  below 
AULD,  old 
AVA",  at  all 

BA',  ball 
BASS,  a  door-mat 
BAUN",  band 
BAWR,  a  joke,  a  "lark" 
BBGOOD,  began 
BEW,  blue 

BLATB,  backward,  ashamed 
BLETHER,  a  talker  (of  non- 
sense) 

BREITH,  breath 
BUITS,  boots 

CA'  (TO),  to  call 
CA'  (TO),  to  drive,  to  force 
CAIM,  comb 
CAIRRIT,  carried 
CANNY,  careful 
CARVIES,  sugared  caraway- 
seeds 

CHBUCH  JEAN,  a  toffy  sweet 
CHIEF,  friendly,  "chummy" 
CLAES,  clothes 
CODE-ILE,  cod-liver  oil 
COUP  (TO),  to  upset 
CRACK,  conversation 

BAUD,  lump  (also  blow) 
DAUNER,  stroll 
DICHT  (TO),  to  wipe 
Doo,  dove,  pigeon 
DOOK  (TO),  to  bathe 
DOUR,  stubborn 
DROOKIT,  soaked,  drenched 
DUNT,  knock 

ERNIN',  ironing 


FASH   (TO),  to  trouble,  to 

worry 

FILE  (TO),  to  soil 
FIN  (TO),  to  feel 
FIT,  foot 
FLANNEN,  flannel 
Fou,  full 
FRAE,  from 
FRICHT,  fright 
FURBYE,  also 
FURRIT,  forward 

GAB,  mouth 

GAR  (TO),  to  induce,  to 
compel 

GARTNAVEL,  a  local  asy- 
lum 

GEMM, game 

GIRNY,  fractious,  complain- 
ing 

GLAUR,  mud 

GOONIE,  a  little  gown 

GREET  (TO),  to  weep 

GRUMPHY,  a  pig 

GUID-SISTER,  sister-in-law 

GUNDY,  candy 

HAP  (TO),  to  cover  cosily 
HAUD  (TO),  to  hold 
HAVERS!     Nonsense! 
HOAST,  cough 
HURL,  ride  (in  a  vehicle) 

INTIL,  into 

TAWBOX,  sink 
JOOG,  jug,  mug 

KEEK  (TO),  to  peep 
KIST,  chest 
KITLY,  tickly 


Glossary 


LEBVIN',  living 

LET  BUG  (TO),  to  show,  to 

inform 
LOUSE  (TO),  to  loosen,  to 

unlace 
LUM,  chimney 

MAUN,  must 

MUCKLE,  much,  great,  big 

NEB,  nose,  point 
NE'ERDAY,  New  Year's  Day 
NICK  (TO  GET  THE),  to  be 

"run  in" 
NOCK,  clock 

OARIN",  rowing 
OOSE,  OOSIE,  wool,  woolly 
OOTBYE,  out-of-doors 
OWER,  over,  excessively 

PARTI  NS,  crabs 
PBCHIN',  panting 
PICKLE  (A),  a  few 
POOSHUN,  poison 
POTTY,  putty 
PREEN,  pin 

QUATB,  quiet 
RID,  red 

SAIR,  sore 

SARK,  shirt 

SATE,  seat 

SCALE  (TO),  to  spill 

SCART  (TO),  to  scratch 

SCLATES,  slates,  scales 

SCLIM  (TO),  to  climb 

SCOOT  (TO),  to  squirt 

SHIN,  soon 

SHOOGLY,  shaky,  insecure 

SHOOGY-SHOO  (TO),  to  rock 


SKELP  (TO),  to  whip 
SOOM  (TO),  to  swim 
SOOPLE,  supple 
SPEIR  (TO),  to  inquire 
SPELDRON,  a  small  dried  fish 
STEERIN',  restless,  energetic 
STRACHT,  straight 
STRAVAYGIN,  wandering 
STRIPPIT,  stripped 
SUMPH,  a  lout 
SUREE,  soiree 
SYNE,  ago 

SYNE  (TO),  to  wash  out 
SWEIRT    unwilling 

TAB,  toe 

TATE,  a  small  portion 
TAURRY-BILER,  tar-boiler 
TAWPY,  a  "softy" 
TEWKY,  a  chicken 
THOLE  (TO),  to  bear,  to  en- 
dure 

THON,  yon 
TIL,  to,  unto 
TIM  (TO),  to  empty 
TOOSIE,  untidy 
TORRIE,  tassel  on  bonnet 
TOSH  UP  (TO),  to  tidy  up 

WAKE,  weak 

WANNERT,  wandered 

WAUR,  worse 

WEAN,  child 

WHEEN  (A),  few 

WHIT  WEY,  what  way,  why 

WHUMLE  (TO),  to  roll  about 

WICE,  wise 

WINDA-SOLE,  window-sill 

WULK,  whelk 

WUR,  our 

YIN,  one 
YINST,  once 


Wee    Macgreegor 


Wee    Macgreegor 


MA.W!"  said  the  small  boy,  for  the 
twenty-third  time  since  the  Rob- 
inson family  began  their  perambulations 
in  Argyll  Street — "maw!" 

"Whit  is't  ye're  wantin'  noo,  Mac- 
greegor?" asked  his  mother,  not  without 
irritation  in  her  voice. 

"Maw,  here  a  sweetie  shope." 

"Weei,  whit  aboot  it?  Yell  get  yer 
gundy  the  morn,  ma  mannie." 

"I  want  it  noo,  maw." 

"Deed,  then,  ye'll  jist  ha'e  to  want. 
Ye  micht  think  shame  o'  yersel',  wantin' 
gundy  efter  ye've  ett  twa  aipples  an'  a 
pie  furbye." 

"But  I'm  hungry  yet." 

This  seemed  to  amuse  his  mother,  for 
«he  laughed  and  called  to  a  big  man 


Wee    Macgreegor 

in  front  of  her,  who  was  carrying  a 
little  girl,  "John,  Macgreegor's  sayin' 
he's  hungry." 

"Are  ye  hungry,  Macgreegor?"  said 
John,  halting  and  turning  to  his  son, 
with  a  twinkle  in  his  eye.  "Ye'll  be 
wantin'  a  scone,  maybe." 

Macgregor  looked  offended,  and  his 
mother  remarked,  "No'  him!  It's  thae 
sweetie  shopes  that's  makin'  him  hun- 
gry. But  I've  tell't  him  he's  to  get 
nae  gundy  till  the  morn's  mornin'." 

"D'ye  hear  whit  she's  sayin',  Mac- 
greegor?" said  his  father.  Then,  sud- 
denly, "Come  on,  Lizzie,  an'  we'll  get 
him  a  bit  sweetie  to  taste  his  gab." 

"Ye  jist  spile  the  wean,  John,"  said 
Lizzie,  moving,  however,  with  a  good- 
natured  smile  to  the  shop  -  window. 
"But  mind,  it's  to  be  baurley- sugar. 
I'll  no  ha'e  him  filin'  his  stomach  wi' 
fancy  things.  See  an'  get  baurley- 
sugar,  John,  an'  wee  Jeannie  '11  get  a 
bit  o'  't.  Wull  ye  no',  ma  daurlin'?" 
she  demanded  sweetly  of  the  child  in 
her  husband's  arms.  Wee  Jeannie  ex- 
pressed delight  in  sounds  unintelligible 
to  any  one  but  her  mother. 

2 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"I  want  taiblet,"  said  Macgregor 
to  his  father,  in  a  whisper  rendered 
hoarse  with  emotion  at  the  sight  of  the 
good  things  in  the  window. 

His  mother  was  not  intended  to  hear 
him,  but  she  did.  "Taiblet!"  she  ex- 
claimed. "Weans  that  gets  taiblet  gets 
ile  efter." 

The  boy's  nether  lip  protruded  and 
trembled  ominously. 

"Och,  Lizzie,"  said  John,  "ye're  aye 
thinkin'  aboot  the  future.  A  wee  bit 
taiblet  '11  dae  the  laddie  nae  hairm. 
Deed,  no!  An'  fine  I  ken  ye  like  a  bit 
taiblet  yersel'." 

"Ay,  that's  a' richt,  John.  But  ye've 
shairly  no'  forgot  whit  the  doctor  said 
when  Macgreegor  wis  lyin'  badly  efter 
ye  had  him  at  the  Exhibeetion.  He 
said  Macgreegor  had  a  wake  disgeestion, 
and  we  wis  to  be  awfu'  carefu'  whit  he 
ett.  An'  I  wis  readin'  in  the  Com- 
panion jist  the  ither  nicht  that  there 
wis  naethin'  waur  fur  the  disgeestion 
nor  nits,  an'  thon  taiblet's  jist  fu'  o' 
nits." 

"Aweel,"  said  her  husband,  evidently 
overcome  by  her  reasoning,  "I'll  get 
3 


Wee    Macgreegor 

baurley  -  sugar.     Haud    wee    Jeannie." 
And  he  entered  the  shop. 

When  he  rejoined  his  family,  he 
handed  the  "wholesome  sweetmeat"  to 
his  wife,  who  first  of  all  extracted  a 
short  stick  for  wee  Jeannie,  wrapping 
one  end  of  it  in  a  scrap  of  paper  torn 
from  the  "poke."  Macgregor  accepted 
his  share  in  gloomy  silence,  and  pres- 
ently the  party  resumed  their  walk, 
John  again  carrying  his  daughter,  who 
from  time  to  time  dabbed  his  counte- 
nance with  the  wet  end  of  her  barley- 
sugar  in  a  filial  desire  to  give  him  a 
taste. 

Having  proceeded  west  about  one 
hundred  yards,  they  were  called  to  a 
halt  by  Lizzie  at  the  door  of  a  big  ware- 
house. 

"I'm  gaun  in  here,  John,"  she  said. 
"I'm  wantin'  a  bit  rid  flannen  fur  a 
goonie  fur  wee  Jeannie." 

"Naethin'  fur  yersel',  Lizzie?" 

His  wife  looked  at  something  in  one 
of  the  windows  rather  wistfully.  "  It's 
ower  dear,"  she  murmured. 

"It's  no'  that  dear,"  said  John, 
thoughtfully. 

4 


Wee    Macgreagor 

"Weel,  it's  guid  stuff.  But  I'm  gey 
sweirt  to  pey  sae  muckle  fur  whit  I 
micht  dae  wi'oot.  An'  Macgreegor's 
needin'  a  new  bunnet." 

"  His  bunnet's  fine.  Jis  you  gang  in, 
Lizzie,  an'  buy  whit  ye've  got  yer  e'e 
on.  We'll  see  aboot  a  bunnet  efter. 
Dod!  ye  maun  ha'e  yer  Ne'rday,  wum- 
man,  like  ither  folk.  Awa'  wi'  ye!" 

"I'll  tak'  wee  Jeannie  in  wi'  me,"  said 
Lizzie,  looking  pleased.  "I'm  shair  yer 
airm's  sair  wi'  haudin'  her.  She's  gettin' 
a  big  lassie — are  ye  no',  ma  doo?"  She 
stepped  into  the  doorway,  but  returned 
for  a  moment.  "  See  an'  keep  a  grup  o' 
Macgreegor,  John,"  she  said. 

"Oh,  ay!  Him  an'  me  '11  jist  tak'  a 
bit  daunner  up  an'  doon  till  ye  come 
oot."  Having  wiped  from  his  face  the 
sticky  traces  of  his  daughter's  affection, 
and  set  his  pipe  going  with  several  long 
breaths  of  satisfaction,  he  held  out  his 
hand  to  his  son,  with  "Come  on,  Mac- 
greegor." 

Macgregor  slipped  his  small  fist  into 
the  big  one,  and  they  set  off  slowly  along 
the  crowded  pavements,  stopping  fre- 
quently to  see  the  sights  of  the  street 

5 


Wee    Macgreegor 

and  the  windows,  while  the  youngster 
asked  innumerable  questions,  mostly  un- 
answerable. 

"Ha'e  ye  ett  yer  baurley- sugar?" 
asked  his  father,  during  a  pause  in  the 
childish  queries. 

"Ay;  I've  ett  it.  ...  It's  no'  as  nice  as 
taiblet,  paw." 

"But  ye'll  no'  be  carin'  fur  taiblet 
noo?" 

"Taiblet's  awfu'  guid,"  returned  Mac- 
gregor,  guardedly,  with  a  glance  up- 
ward at  his  parent's  face.  "Wullie 
Thomson's  paw  gi'es  him  taiblet  whiles." 

"Aweel,  Macgreegor,  I'm  no'  gaun  to 
gi'e  ye  taiblet.  .  .  .  But  if  ye  wis  pittin' 
yer  haun'  in  ma  pooch  ye  micht — 
Ye're  no'  to  let  on  to  yer  maw,  mind!" 

The  enraptured  Macgregor's  hand  was 
already  busy,  and  a  moment  later  his 
jaws  were  likewise. 

"Ye've  burst  the  poke,  ye  rogue," 
said  John,  feeling  in  his  pocket.  "Noo, 
ye're  to  get  nae  mair  till  the  morn. 
Yer  maw  wud  gi'e  't  to  me  if  she  kent  ye 
wis  eatin'  awmonds." 

"I'll  no'  tell,"  said  Macgregor,  gener- 
ously. 

6 


Wee    Macgreegor 

As  they  approached  the  warehouse 
once  more,  John  carefully  wiped  his 
son's  mouth,  and  vainly  endeavored  to 
assume  an  expression  of  innocence. 

However,  when  Lizzie  joined  them 
she  was  too  pleased  and  proud  for  the 
moment  to  suspect  anything. 

"Gi'e  Jeannie  to  me,"  said  John. 

"Na,  na;  I'll  cairry  her  a  wee.  I  got 
a  sate  in  the  shope.  But  I'll  gi'e  ye 
ma  paircel.  It  '11  maybe  gang  in  yer 
poket." 

"Jist,"  said  her  husband,  as  he 
stuffed  in  the  long,  brown-paper  pack- 
age. "Did  ye  get  whit  ye  wantit?" 

"Ay,  John,  an'  I  bate  them  doon  a 
shullinV 

"Ye're  a  rale  smairt  wumman!  Come, 
an'  we'll  gang  an'  see  the  waux- works." 

"Paw,"  put  in  Macgregor,  "I  wudna 
like  to  be  a  waux -work  when  I  wis 
deid." 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  Macgreegor,"  said 
his  mother.  "John,  ye  maun  check 
him  when  he  says  sic  awfu'  things." 

"Aw,  the  wean's  fine,  Lizzie.  .  .  .  Mac- 
greegor, ye 're  no'  to  say  that  again,"  he 
added,  with  an  attempt  at  solemnity. 
7 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Whit  wey  is  folk  made  intil  waux- 
works?"  inquired  his  son,  not  greatly 
abashed. 

"Oh,  jist  to  amuse  ither  folk." 

"But  whit  wey — "  Macgregor's  in- 
quiry was  interrupted  by  his  colliding 
violently  with  a  bag  carried  by  a  gentle- 
man hurrying  for  his  train. 

"Ye  see  whit  ye  get  fur  no'  lukin' 
whaur  ye're  gaun,"  said  his  mother. 
"Pit  his  bunnet  stracht,  John.  .  .  .  Puir 
mannie,  it  wis  a  gey  sair  dunt,"  she 
added,  gently. 

"I'm  no'  greetin',  maw,"  said  Mac- 
gregor,  in  a  quavering  voice,  rubbing 
his  eyes  with  his  cuff. 

"That's  a  braw  lad!"  said  Lizzie. 

"Never  heed,  Macgreegor!  Ye'll  be 
a  man  afore  yer  mither!"  said  John. 

Thus  consoled,  the  boy  trotted  on 
with  his  parents  till  they  reached  the 
gaudy  entrance  of  the  wax-works. 

"  Noo,  I'll  tak'  Jeannie,"  said  the  hus- 
band. 

"Ay;  that  '11  be  the  best  wey  fur  gaun 

in.     An'  I'll  tak'  the  paircel,  fur  it  '11  be 

in  yer  road."     So  saying,  Lizzie  handed 

her  charge  to  John.     Then  she  pulled 

8 


Wee    Macgreegor 

the  parcel  from  his  pocket;  and  lo  and 
behold!  it  came  out  accompanied  by 
sundry  fragments  of  taiblet,  which  fell 
on  the  pavement. 

John  would  have  dropped  anything 
else  but  his  present  burden.  Macgreg- 
or  gazed  at  the  dainties  at  his  feet,  but 
did  not  dare  attempt  to  secure  them. 
Lizzie  looked  pitilessly  from  one  to  the 
other.  It  was  a  tableau  worthy  of  wax. 

But  who  can  follow  the  workings  of 
the  childish  mind?  Two  tears  crept 
into  Macgregor's  eyes  as  he  raised  them 
fearfully  to  his  mother's  face. 

"Paw  never  ett  ony,"  he  mumbled. 

The  expression  on  Lizzie's  face 
changed  to  astonishment. 

"Whit's  that  ye  say?" 

"P-p-paw  never  ett  ony,"  the  boy  re- 
peated. 

And  then,  of  a  sudden,  Lizzie's  aston- 
ishment became  amusement. 

"Deed,  ye're  jist  a  pair  o'  weans!" 
And  she  laughed  against  her  will. 

"It  wis  a'  ma  fau't,  Lizzie,"  said 
John. 

"Ay;  ye  sud  ha'e  pit  the  taiblet  in  yer 
ither  pocket!  Eh?  .  .  .  Na,  na,  Mac- 
9 


Wee    Macgreegor 

greegor,  ye'll  jist  let  the  taiblet  lie,"  she 

exclaimed  as  the  boy  stooped  to  seize  it. 
"There  nae  glaur  on  it,  maw." 
"Ay,  but  there  is.     Come  awa'!" 
And  away  Macgregor  was  pulled  to 

see  the  wax- works. 

But  why  did  paw  wink  at  his  son  and 

point  stealthily  to  his  "pooch"? 


II 


""P)AW,"  said  Macgregor,  as  the  fam* 

J  ily  party  turned  out  of  Sauchiehall 
Street  into  Cambridge  Street — "paw, 
whit  wey  dae  they  ca'  it  the  Zoo?" 

"Deed,  Macgreegor,  ye  bate  me 
there,"  returned  his  father.  "Lizzie," 
he  said  to  his  wife,  "  Macgreegor's 
speirin'  whit  wey  they  ca'  it  the  Zoo." 

"Macgreegor's  aye  speirin',"  said  Liz- 
zie. "  If  they  didna  ca'  it  the  Zoo,  whit 
wud  they  ca'  it?" 

"  Weel,  that's  true,"  observed  her  hus- 
band. "But  it's  a  queer  word,  Zoo;  an' 
the  mair  ye  think  o'  't  the  queerer  it  gets. 
I  mind  I  yinst — " 

"Paw,  wull  we  shin  be  there?"  in- 
quired his  son,  whose  philological  crav- 
ing was  apparently  neither  very  severe 
nor  lasting. 

1 '  Ay,  ye'll  be  there  in  a  meenit.  Lizzie, 
are  ye  shair  it's  a'  richt  aboot  takin'  wee 
Jeannie  in  to  see  the  beasts?  I  doot 
she'll  be  frichtit." 

it 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Frichtit?  Nae  fear,  John!  Wee 
Jeannie's  no'  that  easy  frichtit.  Losh 
me!  When  the  meenister  wis  in  the 
hoose  on  Wensday,  wee  Jeannie  wisna 
a  bit  feart — wis  ye,  ma  doo?  She  jist 
laucht  til  him,  an'  played  dab  at  his  e'e 
wi'  the  leg  o'  her  auld  jumpin'-jake. 
Mr.  Broon  wis  fair  divertit,  an'  gi'ed 
her  yin  o'  his  cough  lozengers.  Na,  na, 
John;  she's  no'  that  easy  frichtit." 

"Aweel,  ye  ken  best,  Lizzie.  See, 
gi'e  her  to  me." 

"Oh,  I'll  haud  her  till  we  get  inside. 
She'll  shin  be  walkin'  her  lanesome — 
wull  ye  no',  honey?  Jist  keep  a  grup  o' 
Macgreegor,  John,  or  he'll  be  fleein'  awa' 
an'  gettin'  rin  ower  or  wannert." 

"Paw,"  said  Macgregor,  "I  see  the 
Zoo." 

"Ay,  thon's  hit.  Ye  never  see  wild 
beasts  afore,  Macgreegor?" 

"  I  near  seen  wild  beasts  in  the  shows 
at  the  Lairgs,  paw." 

"Aw,  ay;  ye  wis  bidin'  wi'  yer  aunt 
Purdie  then.  She  wud  be  feart  to  gang 
in  whaur  the  beasts  wis." 

"Aunt  Purdie's  an  auld  footer,"  said 
Macgregor. 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Whisht,  whisht!"  interposed  his 
mother.  "Ye're  no'  to  speak  that  wey 
aboot  yer  aunt  Purdie.  She's  a  rale 
dacent  wumman.  .  .  .  John,  ye  sudna 
lauch  at  Macgreegor's  talk;  ye  jist  mak' 
him  think  he's  smairt." 

"Aw,  the  wean's  fine,  Lizzie.  Weel, 
we'll  get  across  the  road  noo." 

"Whit  wey — "  began  the  boy. 

"Macgreegor,  tak'  yer  paw's  haun'. 
I'm  no'  wantin'  ye  to  be  catched  wi' 
yin  o'  thae  electric  -  caurs,"  said  his 
mother. 

The  street  was  crossed  without  mis- 
hap, and  presently  the  quartet  found 
themselves  within  the  Zoo.  For  a  couple 
of  minutes,  perhaps,  they  paused  on  the 
threshold,  uncertain  which  direction  to 
take.  Then  the  announcement  made 
by  an  official  in  a  loud  voice  to  the  ef- 
fect that  a  performance  by  the  lions  and 
tigers  was  about  to  take  place  on  the 
west  side  of  the  building  sent  them  hur- 
rying thither  with  the  crowd,  Macgregor 
for  once  in  his  life  being  too  overcome 
for  speech. 

Beyond  sundry  ejaculations,  little 
conversation  took  place  while  the  trainer 
13 


Wee    Macgreegor 

exhibited  his  pluck  and  wonderful  com- 
mand over  the  brutes ;  and  it  might  have 
been  observed  that  Macgregor  never 
once  made  the  slightest  attempt  to 
withdraw  his  fingers  from  the  fatherly 
clasp. 

"Mercy  me!  It's  maist  wunnerfu'!" 
exclaimed  Lizzie,  when  it  was  all  over. 

"Dod,  it  bates  a'!"  said  John,  as  he 
took  wee  Jeannie  from  her  arms. 

And  a  small  voice  at  his  side  whis- 
pered, hoarsely,  "I  wisna  feart,  paw!" 

"  Macgreegor's  sayin'  he  wisna  feart, 
Lizzie,"  said  John  to  his  wife. 

"Maybe  he  wisna,"  returned  Lizzie, 
"but  I  can  tell  ye  I  wis  a'  shakin'  when 
thae  muckle  brits  wis  loupin'  aboot  the 
man.  I  wis  wunnerin'  whit  I  wud  dae 
wi'  wee  Jeannie  if  ony  o'  the  beasts  wun 
oot  the  cages  an'  commenced  fur  to  pu' 
the  heids  an'  legs  aff  the  folk." 

"Och,  wumman,  there's  nae  fear  o' 
that." 

"If  a  beast  wis  gaun  fur  to  pu'  ma 
heid  aff,"  remarked  Macgregor,  who 
had  grown  suddenly  bold,  "I — I — I 
wud — I  wud  gi'e  't  a  kick!" 

"Ye're  the  boy!"  said  his  father. 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ye  sudna  let  him  boast  like  that, 
John,"  said  Lizzie,  reprovingly. 

"Whit  wud  ye  dae,  Macgreegor," 
asked  John,  with  a  grin,  "if  a  beast  wis 
efter  yer  maw?" 

"I  —  I  —  wud  pu'  its  tail,"  replied 
the  valiant  Macgregor.  "And  then  I 
wud — "  A  loud  roar  from  one  of  the 
lions  interrupted  him  and  caused  him  to 
clutch  at  his  parent. 

"Aw,  Macgreegor,"  said  his  mother, 
"I  doot  ye  wud  jist  rin  awa'  an'  leave 
yer  maw  to  be  ett." 

The  boy's  under -lip  trembled.  "I 
wudna  dae  that,  maw,"  he  said,  sol- 
emnly. 

"Wud  ye  no',  ma  dearie?"  said  Liz- 
zie, her  voice  softening.  "Weel,  weel, 
we'll  say  nae  mair  aboot  it.  Whit's  yer 
paw  an'  wee  Jeannie  efter  noo?" 

"It's  an  ephelant,  maw,"  said  Mac- 
gregor, as  they  overtook  the  father  and 
daughter,  who  were  admiring  the  stuffed 
carcass  of  a  huge  elephant. 

"He's  no  leevin',"  John  explained. 
"He's  the  yin  that  had  to  be  shot  a 
while  syne." 

"Whit  wey  wis  he  shot,  paw?" 
IS 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"He  wis  dangerous." 

"  Whit  wey  wis  he  dangerous?" 

"I'm  no'  jist  shair,  but  a  man  yinst 
tell't  me  the  beast  wis  trampin'  on  his 
keepers,  an'  eatin'  the  bunnets  aff  the 
folk's  heids." 

"Paw,  whit's  thon  big  white  oosie 
beast?" 

' '  Thon  yin  ?     D  ae  ye  ken  .Lizzie  ?" 

"I've  seen  picturs  like  it,  John.  It's 
a — oh,  ay,  it's  a  Polish  bear." 

"Dod,  ay!  It  wud  gey  shin  polish 
aff  you  an*  me,  wumman,"  said  John, 
laughing  heartily. 

"Dod,  ay!"  echoed  Macgregor. 

"Ye're  no'  to  say  that,"  said  Lizzie. 

"Whit,  maw?" 

"Ye're  no'  to  say  'dod.'" 

"Paw  says  it,  maw." 

"  Weel,  yer  paw  sudna  say  't." 

"Whit  wey,  maw?" 

"Ha'e,  Lizzie,"  said  John,  handing 
his  wife  a  catalogue  which  he  had  just 
purchased,  "that  '11  tell  ye  the  names  o' 
the  beasts.  Whit  dae  they  ca'  thon 
strippit — " 

"Maw,  whit's  the  name  o'  thon  spotit 
yin?"  cried  Macgregor. 
16 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"They're  baith  Hyaenies,"  replied 
Lizzie,  after  consulting  the  numbers  on 
the  cages  and  the  booklet.  "Thon  big 
black  beast  wi'  the  awfu'  tae-nils  is  the 
As  wail  or  Sloth  Bear." 

"Ay,  it's  jist  Aswail  it's  in  its  cage," 
remarked  her  husband,  with  a  chuckle. 

"My!  ye're  rale  smairt  the  day,  John, 
wi'  yer  bit  jokes.  But  whaur's  Mac- 
greegor?" 

The  youngster  was  discovered,  after 
some  search,  at  the  other  side  of  the 
building,  gazing  with  an  expression  of 
awe  at  a  couple  of  camels. 

"Paw,  the  wee  yin's  face  is  unco  like 
Aunt  Purdie,"  he  observed. 

His  father  guffawed. 

His  mother  frowned.  "John,  I've 
tell't  ye  afore  no'  to  lauch  when  Mac- 
greegor says  impident  things.  I  wunner 
at  ye!" 

"But,  Lizzie,  I  cudna  help  it  this 
time.  Dod,  I  thocht  it  wis  gey  like 
yer  brither's  guidwife  masel'!" 

"John!" 

"As  shair's  daith!  It's  jist  the  face 
she  pits  on  when  she's  comin'  oot  the 
kirk  on  a  wat  Sawbath." 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Weel,  she  canna  help  her  face,  puir 
thing!"  said  Lizzie. 

"I  never  cud  unnerstaun'  hoo  yer 
blither  Rubbert  cud  mairry  sic  an  auld 
bogle,  an'  him  wi'  sic  a  braw  sister." 

"Hoots,  John!  Ye're  fair  aff  at  the 
nail  the  day!"  said  Lizzie,  trying  not 
to  smile. 

"Paw,  whit  wey  ha'e  the  caymels  nae 
trunks  like  the  ephelants?" 

"Macgreegor,"  remarked  Lizzie,  "ye 
wud  turn  Solyman  hissel'  dementit!  Jist 
luk  at  the  humphs  on  their  backs,  an' 
dinna  fash  yer — " 

"Paw,  whit  wey  ha'e  the  caymels  got 
,humphs?" 

"Man,  ye're  a  fair  divert,  Macgree- 
gor," said  John.  "Maybe  it's  because 
they  ha'e  nae  trunks.  See,  there's  a 
penny  fur  ye.  Awa'  to  the  stall  ower 
thonder,  an'  get  a  wheen  biscuits  fur 
the  beasts." 

"I'm  gaun  to  feed  the  ephelants," 
Macgregor  announced  on  his  return. 

"That's  richt!     See,  there  the  big  yin 
haudin'  oot  his  trunk.  .  .  .  Dod,  a  bis- 
cuit's naethin'  to  him.     Gi'e  yin  to  wee 
Jeannie  an'  she'll  feed  the  ither  yin." 
18 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  Is  the  ephelant's  trunk  jist  the  same 
as  a  man's  neb,  paw?"  inquired  Mao 
gregor. 

"Ay,  jist  the  same." 

"Whit  wey  dae  folk  no'  pick  up  things 
wi'  their  nebs,  paw?" 

"Aw,  haud  yer  tongue,  Macgreegor," 
said  his  mother.  "John,  bring  wee 
Jeannie  ower  to  see  the  paurrits." 

The  birds  having  been  duly  admired 
and  commented  upon,  Macgregor  was 
again  discovered  to  be  missing.  This 
time  he  was  found  engaged  in  making 
faces  at  a  family  of  monkeys. 

"Come  awa'  frae  the  nesty  things!" 
cried  Lizzie.  "I  canna  thole  monkeys, 
John.  Whit  '11  thon  beast  be  in  the 
watter?" 

"The  number's  wan-twinty-nine." 

"Oh,  ay.  Common  Seal,  frae  the 
German  Ocean.  Ah,  but  that  '11  be  the 
wee  yin.  The  big  yin's  a  Californian 
Sea  Lion.  Macgreegor,  here's  a  sea 
lion!" 

"It's  no  vera  like  a  lion,  maw.  .  .  . 
I  see  its  whuskers!  Whit  wey  has  it 
nae  oose  on  its  feet?" 

"Thae  things  isna  feet.  Thae's  fins." 
19 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Whit  wey  has  it  nae  oose  on  its  fins, 
paw?" 

"Maybe  it  cudna  soom  wi'  oose  on 
its  fins." 

"Whit  wey  cud  it  no'  soom  wi'  oose 
on—" 

"Come  awa'  an'  see  this  extraornar 
beast,  Macgreegor,"  said  Lizzie.  "The 
book  says  it's  ca'ed  a  tapir." 

"Whit  wey  is  't  ca'ed  a  tapir,  maw?" 

"Gi'e't  a  bit  biscuit,"  returned  his 
mother,  evasively.  "Puir  beastie,  it's 
lukin'  gey  doon  i'  the  mooth,  is  't  no, 
John?" 

"It's  a'  that.  But  I  wid  be  doon  i' 
the  mooth,  masel',  Lizzie,  wi'  a  neb  like 
that  on  me.  See  an"  no'  let  it  nip  yer 
fingers,  Macgreegor." 

"Whit  wey  is  its  neb  sae  shoogly, 
paw?" 

"Dod,  Macgreegor,  I'm  thinkin'  it 
kens  ye.  It's  wagglin'  its  neb  at  ye 
fur  anither  bit  biscuit." 

"John,"  said  his  wife,  "I'll  tak'  wee 
Jeannie  an'  ha'e  a  sate  fur  a  wee." 

"Are  ye  wearit?  Wud  ye  no'  like 
a  dish  o'  tea?" 

"Och,  I'm  no'  needin'  tea,  John." 

20 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Plenty  folk  tak'  tea  when  they're 
no'  needin'  it.  Come  on,  Lizzie!" 

Lizzie  shook  her  head  and  mutter- 
ed something  about  "gentry"  and 
"wastry." 

"I — I  got  a  rise  in  ma  pey  the  day, 
Lizzie,"  said  her  husband,  suddenly. 

"Did  ye  that,  John?" 

"Ay!     Hauf-a-croon." 

"Deed,  I  wis  thinkin'  it  wis  mair  nor 
naethin'  that  wis  makin'  ye  sae  jokey- 
like,"  said  Lizzie,  with  a  laugh. 

"Come  on,  then,  Lizzie.  Here,  Mac- 
.greegor!" 

"Paw,  whit  wey — " 

"Aw,  ye'll  see  the  beasts  again  in  a 
wee.  Cud  ye  eat  a  pie?" 

Macgregor  drew  a  long  breath.  "  Cud 
I  no'?"  he  exclaimed,  beaming. 


Ill 

THE  Robinsons  were  on  their  way  to 
tea  at  Aunt  Purdie's,  and  the  anx- 
ious Lizzie  was  counselling  her  son  re- 
garding his   behavior  at   the   table  of 
that  excellent  lady. 

"Noo,  Macgreegor,"  she  said,  "ye're 
no'  to  affront  me.  Yer  aunt  Purdie's 
rale  genteel,  an'  awful  easy  offendit." 

"Dod,  ay!"  said  John,  "ye'll  ha'e  to 
mind  yer  Q.P.'s  the  day,  as  the  sayin' 
is." 

"Dod,  ay!"  said  Macgregor. 

"I've  tell 't  ye  dizzens  o'  times,  Mac- 
greegor, ye're  no'  to  say  that,"  said  his 
mother. 

"I  furgot,  maw." 

"If  yer  aunt  Purdie  wis  hearin'  ye 
speak  that  wey  she  wud  be  sair  pit  oot. 
An',  John,"  turning  to  her  husband, 
"ye  sud  be  mair  carefu'  whit  ye  say 
afore  the  wean.  He's  jist  like  a  paurrit 
fur  pickin'  up  words." 
22 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Dod,  ay!"  said  John,  seriously,  "I'll 
ha'e  to  be  carefu',  Lizzie." 

"Ye're  an  awfu'  man,"  said  his  wife, 
frowning  and  smiling. 

"  Wull  I  get  a  tert  at  Aunt  Purdie's?" 
inquired  Macgregor. 

"Ye'll  see  whit  ye'll  get  when  ye  get 
it,"  replied  his  mother.  "An'  mind, 
Macgreegor,  ye're  no'  to  be  askin'  fur 
jeely  till  ye've  ett  twa  bits  o'  breed- 
an' -butter.  It's  no'  mainners;  an'  yer 
aunt  Purdie's  rale  parteeclar.  An'  yer 
no'  to  dicht  yer  mooth  wi'  yer  cuff — 
mind  that.  Ye're  to  tak'  yer  hanky  an' 
let  on  ye're  jist  gi'ein'  yer  nib  a  bit  wipe. 
An'  ye're  no'  to  scale  yer  tea  nor  sup  the 
sugar  if  ony's  left  in  yer  cup  when  ye're 
dune  drinkin'.  An'  if  ye  drap  yer  piece 
on  the  floor,  ye're  no'  to  gang  efter  it; 
ye're  jist  to  let  on  ye've  ett  it.  An' 
ye're  no' — " 

"Deed,  Lizzie,"  interposed  her  hus- 
band, "ye're  the  yin  to  think  aboot 
things!" 

"Weel,  John,  if  I  dinna  tell  Mac- 
greegor hoo  to  behave  hissel',  he'll  af- 
front me.  It's  maybe  a  sma'  maitter 
to  a  man,  John,  but  a  wumman  disna 
23 


Wee    Macgreegor 

like  to  be  pit  oot  afore  her  guid  sister. 
An',  John,  ye're  to  try  an'  be  discreet 
yersel',  an'  think  afore  ye  mak'  a  bit 
joke,  fur  she's  a  rale  genteel  wumman, 
an'  awfu'  easy  offendit." 

"But  yer  brither  likes  a lauch,  Lizzie." 

"Ay,  Rubbert's  a  herty  man;  but  a' 
the  same,  John,  ye're  no'  to  gar  him 
lauch  abin  his  breith.  An'  yer  no'  to 
lauch  yersel'  if  Macgreegor  tries  to  be 
smairt." 

"A'  richt,  Lizzie,"  said  her  husband, 
good-humoredly.  "Dod,  I'm  thinkin' 
ye're  jist  aboot  as  feart  fur  me  as  fur 
the  wean." 

"Havers,  John!  I'm  no'  nnnin'  fau't 
wi'  you.  It's  jist  that  ye  whiles  furget 
yer — " 

"Ma  Q.P.'s." 

"Ay,  ye're  Q.P.'s,  as  ye  ca'  it.  I  aye 
thocht  Q.P.'s  wis  a  kin'  o'  fit-ba'." 

Her  husband  was  about  to  explain 
when  Macgregor  exclaimed  that  Aunt 
Purdie's  dwelling  was  in  sight. 

"Ay,  it's  the  third  close,"  remarked 

John,  proceeding  to  plug  his  pipe  with 

a  scrap   of  newspaper.     After  that  he 

pulled  up  his  collar,  tightened  his  tie, 

24 


Wee    Macgreegor 

cocked  his  hat  a  little  over  one  eye, 
winked  at  his  wife,  and  chucked  wee 
Jeannie  under  the  chin. 

"I  wud  just  as  shin  be  at  hame,  Liz- 
zie," he  observed,  as  they  turned  into 
the  close. 

"Whisht,  John!  Mrs.  Purdie's  a  rale 
dacent  wumman,  an' — an'  we  needna 
wait  ower  lang.  See  if  ye  can  gi'e  Mac- 
greegor's  hair  a  bit  tosh  up.  It's  awfu' 
ill  to  lie.  .  .  .  Noo,  John,  ye'll  gang  furrit 
an'  ring  the  bell.  Mind,  ye're  to  speir  if 
Mrs.  Pur  die  is  in  afore  ye  gang  ower  the 
doorstep." 

"  But  she  wudna  ha'e  askit  us  to  wur 
tea  if  she  had  been  fur  gaun  oot,"  said 
John. 

"Tits,  man!  Mrs.  Purdie  keeps  a 
wee  servant  lass,  an'  ye  maun  speir  at 
her  if  her  mistress  is  in.  Mind,  yer  no' 
to  say  'it's  a  fine  day,'  or  onythin'  like 
that;  ye're  jist  to  speir  if  Mrs.  Purdie's 
in.  D  'ye  see?" 

"Weel,  weel,  wumman,  onythin'  fur 
peace."  And  John  pulled  the  bell- 
handle.  "  I  ken  she's  in,"  he  whispered. 
"I  hear  her  roarin'  at  somebody." 

"  Sh !  John.  Jist  dae  whit  I  tell 't  ye . " 
25 


Wee    Macgreegor 

The  door  was  opened  and  John  bash- 
fully repeated  the  formula. 

"Will  you  please  step  in?"  said  the 
domestic,  a  small,  rosy  -  cheeked  girl, 
who  still  showed  her  ankles  though  she 
had  put  her  hair  up. 

"Dicht  yer  feet,  Macgreegor,  dicht 
yer  feet,"  said  Lizzie,  in  a  quick,  loud 
whisper.  ' '  See ,  dicht  them  on  the  bass. ' ' 

Macgregor  obeyed  with  great  vigor, 
and  followed  the  others  into  the  lobby. 

"Paw,  we've  a  brawer  nock  nor  that 
yin,"  he  remarked,  in  a  husky  under- 
tone, pointing  at  a  grandfather's  clock 
in  a  corner. 

"Whisht!"  said  his  mother,  nervously. 

"Wull  I  pit  ma  bunnet  in  ma  pooch, 
maw?"  asked  the  boy. 

"Na,  na!  John,  pit  his  bunnet  up 
aside  yer  ain." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Purdie  appeared  and 
bade  them  welcome;  and  presently 
they  were  gathered  in  the  parlor,  the 
table  of  which  was  already  laid  for  tea. 
Mr.  Purdie  was  getting  on  well  in  the 
world — his  grocery  establishment  was 
gaining  new  customers  daily —  and  Mrs. 
Purdie  was  inclined,  alas!  to  look  down 
26 


Wee    Macgreegor 

on  her  homely  relatives,  and  to  regard 
their  manners  and  speech  as  vulgar, 
with  the  result  that  her  own  manners 
were  frequently  affected,  while  her  speech 
was  sometimes  a  strange  mixture. 

"And  how  are  you  to-day,  Macgreg- 
or?"  she  asked  the  boy  as  they  sat  round 
the  fire. 

"I'm  fine,"  replied  Macgregor,  glanc- 
ing at  the  good  things  on  the  table. 

"Fine  what?"  said  Aunt  Purdie. 

"Ye  sud  say,  ' Fine,  thenk  ye,' "  whis- 
pered his  mother,  giving  him  a  nudge. 

"Fine,  thenk  ye,"  said  Macgregor, 
obediently.  "I  wis  at  the  Zoo." 

"Oh,  indeed.  And  what  did  you  see 
at  the  Zoo?" 

"Beasts,  thenk  ye,"  said  Macgregor. 

"An'  hoo's  Rubbert?"  asked  Lizzie, 
with  some  haste. 

"Robert  is  keeping  well,  thank  you; 
but  he's  sorry  he  cannot  leave  the  shop 
this  evening.  His  young  man  was  un- 
fortunately rin  over  by  an  electric-caur 
yesterday." 

"Oh,  thae  caurs!"  said  Lizzie.     "I'm 
aye  feart  fur  Macgreegor  gettin'  catched, 
an'  comin'  hame  wantin'  a  leg." 
27 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Robert's  young  man  got  conclusion 
of  the  brain,"  said  Aunt  Purdie,  with 
great  solemnity.  "He  was  carrying  a 
dizzen  of  eggs  an'  a  pun'  of  the  best 
ham  when  the  melancholy  accident  oc- 
curred." 

"Dae  ye  tell  me  that?"  exclaimed 
Lizzie.  "An'  wis  the  eggs  a'  broke?" 

"With  two  exceptions."  And  Aunt 
Purdie  went  on  to  describe  the  accident 
in  detail  to  Lizzie,  while  John  and 
Macgregor  looked  out  of  the  window,  and 
wee  Jeannie,  who  had  been  put  on  the 
floor  to  "play  herself,"  found  amuse- 
ment in  pulling  to  pieces  a  half-knitted 
stocking  which  she  discovered  in  a  basket 
under  the  sofa. 

Soon  the  little,  rosy-cheeked  maid  en- 
tered with  the  teapot,  and  they  all  took 
their  places  at  table,  wee  Jeannie  being 
lifted  on  to  her  mother's  knee  and 
warned  not  to  touch  the  knife. 

"Mr.  Robison,"  said  Aunt  Purdie, 
looking  very  hard  at  John,  "kindly  ask 
a  blessing." 

John  turned  red  and  mumbled  some- 
thing, at  the  end  of  which  he  wiped  his 
brow  and  loudly  blew  his  nose. 
28 


Wee    Macgreegor 

The  hostess,  after  looking  for  a  mo- 
ment as  if  she  thought  it  rather  an  in- 
ferior "blessing,"  commenced  her  duties. 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  a  joog,  maw,"  said 
Macgregor  to  his  mother,  as  he  observed 
Aunt  Purdie  filling  a  mug  with  milk  and 
hot  water. 

"It's  fur  wee  Jeannie,"  whispered 
Lizzie.  "But  ye're  jist  to  tak'  whit 
ye  get." 

Conversation  flagged  for  the  first  five 
minutes.  Then  Mrs.  Purdie  broke  the 
silence. 

"Have  you  been  going  out  much  this 
winter,  Mr.  Robison?"  she  inquired,  in 
her  best  style. 

For  an  instant  John  gaped.  "Dod, 
Mrs.  Purdie,  I'm  gled  to  say  I've  no' 
been  aff  ma  work  a  day  since  the  New 
Year." 

"I  mean  out  to  entertainments,  par- 
ties, and  conversonies,"  said  Mrs.  Purdie, 
with  a  pitying  smile. 

"Oh,  ay.  Aweel,  "Lizzie  an'  me  likes 
the  fireside,  but  we've  been  to  the  Zoo 
an'  the  pantymine  an'  twa-three  surees." 

"I  like  surees,"  observed  Macgregor, 
digging  into  a  pot  of  jam.  By  a  strange 
29 


Wee    Macgreegor 

mischance  he  had  already  dropped  two 
pieces  of  plain  bread-and-butter  on  the 
floor,  but  to  his  credit  it  must  be  re- 
corded that  he  had  remembered  his 
mother's  injunction  not  to  attempt  to 
recover  them. 

"  Ay,  Macgreegor's  the  yin  fur  surees," 
said  John.  "He  cam'  name  frae  the 
Sawbath-schule  suree  the  ither  nicht 
wi'  fower  Grangers  an'  guid  kens  hoo 
mony  pokes  o'  sweeties." 

"An"  he  had  to  get  ile  i'  the  mornin'," 
said  Lizzie,  whose  time  was  chiefly  oc- 
cupied in  feeding  wee  Jeannie. 

"Do  you  like  oil?"  said  Mrs.  Purdie, 
smiling  sourly  at  Macgregor. 

"Naw,"  returned  the  boy,  with  his 
mouth  full.  "Dae  you  like  ile,  Aunt 
Purdie?" 

"Whisht!"  said  his  mother,  reprov- 
ingly. 

"Assist  yourself  to  a  cookie,  Mr. 
Robison,"  said  Mrs.  Purdie,  a  trifle  con- 
fused. "And  pass  your  cup.  Mrs. 
Robison,  is  your  tea  out?" 

"Thenk  ye,"  said  Lizzie.  "This  is 
rale  nice  cake,  Mrs.  Purdie." 

"It    was    recommended    to    me    by 

3° 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Mrs.  M'Cluny,  the  doctor's  wife.  Mrs. 
M'Cluny  is  very  highly  connected,  quite 
autocratic,  in  fact.  Her  and  me  is  great 
friends.  I  expect  to  meet  her  at  the 
Carmunnock  conversonie  on  Monday 
night — a  very  select  gathering.  Her  an' 
me—" 

"Paw,  I  want  a  tert." 

"Na,  John,"  said  Lizzie,  "he's  had 
yin." 

"I  want  anither,  maw." 

"Ye  canna  ha'e  anither,  Macgreegor. 
Weel,  Mrs.  Purdie,  ye  wis  sayin' — " 

"I  was  observing — " 

"Paw,  gi'e  's  a  curran' -  cake,"  said 
Macgregor,  in  a  whisper. 

John  winked  at  his  son,  and  stealthily 
moved  the  dish  of  dainties  in  his  direc- 
tion. 

The  two  ladies  were  discussing  the 
coming  "conversonie,"  and  appeared 
oblivious  to  what  was  going  on.  The 
plate  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  at 
last  Macgregor's  eager  paw  went  cau- 
tiously towards  it.  The  currant -cake 
was  secured,  but  as  the  boy  drew  back 
his  hand  his  mother  detected  him. 

"Macgreegor!"  she  exclaimed. 


Wee    Macgreegor 

The  hapless  youngster  started  guilt- 
ily. Over  went  the  jam-pot,  spreading 
its  contents  on  the  cloth;  over  went 
Macgregor's  teacup,  which  was  smashed 
to  atoms  on  the  floor.  Wee  Jeannie, 
with  a  gurgle  of  delight,  evidently  under 
the  impression  that  something  in  the 
way  of  entertainment  was  expected  of 
her,  tipped  her  mug  after  the  cup,  while 
her  father,  rising  in  confusion,  sent  a 
plate  and  five  cookies  to  swell  the 
wreckage. 

John  stood  helpless ;  Lizzie  sat  speech- 
less and  pale;  wee  Jeannie,  discovering 
that  it  wasn't  a  joke,  after  all,  set  up  a 
dismal  wailing;  and  Macgregor,  with 
quivering  lip  and  misty  eye,  stared  at 
the  ruin  he  had  wrought.  No  one  dared 
to  look  at  Aunt  Purdie.  Her  expression 
was  grim — very  grim,  indeed.  When 
she  did  speak,  her  words  were  few  but 
incisive.  They  had  reference  to  the 
bringing-up  of  children,  of  which,  she 
thanked  Providence,  she  had  none. 
Poor  Lizzie  apologized  for  her  son,  ex- 
pressed herself  "fair  affrontit"  at  his 
conduct,  and  declared  that  she  would 
"sort"  him  when  they  got  home.  The 
32 


Wee    Macgreegor 

hour  following  tea  was  an  uncomfortable 
one,  and  John  did  not  conceal  his  relief 
at  being  out  of  the  house. 

"She'll  no'  ask  us  back,"  he  observed. 

Lizzie  said  nothing. 

"  Macgreegor's  sayin*  he's  gey  an' 
sorry,"  said  John,  presently. 

"Muckle  need,"  muttered  Lizzie, 

"He's  sayin'  he'll  tak'  ile  if  ye  like," 
went  on  her  husband. 

"He'll  get  mair  nor  ile!" 

"Aw,  wumman,  the  wean  cudna  help 
it.  It  wis  a'  an  accident.  Let  him  aff 
this  time,  Lizzie.  I  broke  a  plate  masel', 
ye  ken,  an'  wee  Jeannie  broke  a  joog. 
Are  we  a'  to  get  ile  an' — an'  the  ither 
thing,  dearie?"  .  .  . 

"Och,  John,  ye  aye  get  ower  me." 

And  so  peace  reigned  again. 

Ten  minutes  later  John  noticed  that 
Macgregor  was  lagging  behind.  He 
went  back  a  couple  of  steps  and  took 
his  son's  hand. 

"Whit's  that  ye're  pittin'  in  yer  gab, 
Macgreegor?"  he  asked,  suddenly. 

Macgregor  drew  something  from  his 
pocket.  "I'll  gi'e  ye  a  bit,  paw,"  he 
said,  generously.  "  It's  a  curran'-cake." 
33 


IV 


"   TIST  ye  gang  oot  an'  dae  yer  mes- 

vj  sages,  Lizzie,  an'  I'll  mind  Mac- 
greegor,"  said  John,  when  he  had  fin- 
ished his  tea. 

"Ye'll  no'  let  him  speak,  John,"  said 
Lizzie,  rising  and  beginning  to  remove 
the  dishes  from  the  table  to  the  jaw-box 
with  as  little  noise  as  possible.  "Ye 
ken  he  didna  sleep  a  wink  a'  nicht,  an' 
he  had  jist  a  wee  doze  at  denner-time. 
He's  needin'  a  guid  sleep,  puir  mannie, 
sae  ye  maun  keep  him  as  quate  's  ye  can, 
John."  Husband  and  wife  talked  in 
whispers. 

"Dae  ye  think  he's  better  the  nicht?" 
asked  the  former,  anxiously. 

"Oh,  ay;  I  ken  he's  a  bit  better,  but 
he's  no'  near  ready  fur  the  turkey's  egg 
ye  brocht  hame  the  day,  John." 

"I  thocht  it  micht  gi'e  him  strength, 
Lizzie." 

"Deed,  ay.  But,  ye  see,  his  inside's 
34 


Wee    Macgreegor 

ower  wake  yet.     He'll  get  the  egg  as 
shin  as  he  can  disgeest  it." 

"Ay,"  said  John,  agreeably,  but  look- 
ing disappointed. 

"Ye  hivna  ony  sweeties  in  yer 
pooch?"  said  Lizzie,  suddenly  and  in- 
terrogatively, glancing  at  him  as  she 
dried  a  saucer. 

John  pretended  he  did  not  hear,  and 
his  wife  repeated  the  question  quietly 
but  firmly. 

"Och,  jist  a  wheen  joojoobs,  wum- 
man,"  he  replied,  at  last. 

"Aweel,  John,  I'll  jist  tak'  chairge  o' 
them  till  the  wean's  ready  fur  sweeties." 

"I'll  no'  gi'e  Macgreegor  ony  the 
nicht,  Lizzie,"  he  said,  looking  uncom- 
fortable. 

"I  ken  that." 

"Tak'  them  oot  o'  ma  pooch,"  said 
John,  smiling  ruefully,  and  pointing  to 
his  jacket  hung  behind  the  door. 

"Tak'  them  oot  yersel',"  returned  his 
wife,  "an'  pit  them  in  the  wee  drawer 
in  the  dresser." 

"Ye're  an  awfu'  wumman!" 

"Ye 're  an  awfu'  man!" 

"Maybe  ye're  richt." 
35 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Weel,  John,  ye've  plenty  o'  whit 
they  ca'  common-sense  in  maist  things, 
but  ye're  jist  a  wean  aboot  Macgreegor," 
said  Lizzie. 

"Ay,"  said  John,  humbly. 

"An*  I've  got  to  keep  an  e'e  on  ye, 
dearie,"  she  added,  more  gently.  "  Noo, 
I'm  dependin'  on  ye  to  keep  Macgreegor 
quate,"  she  said,  a  little  later.  "  I'll  no' 
be  lang.  An'  I'll  get  wee  Jeannie  on  ma 
wey  back.  It  wis  rale  kind  o'  Mrs.  Thom- 
son to  tak'  the  wean  the  day,  fur  she's 
gettin'  a  steerin'  lassie,  an'  wudna  unner- 
staun'  that  Macgreegor  wis  lyin'  badly." 

Presently  Lizzie,  after  bending  for  a 
minute  over  the  bed  where  the  small  pa- 
tient lay,  prepared  to  leave  the  house. 
"He's  sleepin',  John,"  she  said,  with  a 
pleased  smile. 

Left  to  himself,  John  smoked  his  pipe 
before  the  fire  and  meditated.  Two 
minutes  passed,  and  then — 

"Paw!" 

"Are  ye  waukin',  Macgreegor?"  John 
sprang  up,  laid  down  his  pipe,  and  went 
to  the  bedside. 

"Paw,  whit  wey  am  I  no'  to  get  a 
joojoob?" 

36 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Aw — weel,  ye  see,  it  wudna  be  guid 
fur  yer  inside." 

"But  ma  heid's  sair,  paw." 

"Yer  maw  said  I  wisna  to  let  ye 
speak.  Whisht  noo,  ma  wee  man,  an' 
try  an'  gang  to  sleep." 

"I  canna  sleep.  Ma  heid's  sair.  I 
want  a  joojoob." 

John  stroked  his  son's  head  and  patted 
his  shoulder  tenderly.  "Puir  laddie, 
wud  ye  like  a  drink?" 

"I  want  a  joojoob,  paw." 

Somehow  the  man's  eye,  leaving  the 
boy  for  a  moment,  roved  round  the 
kitchen.  The  wee  drawer  in  the  dresser 
had  been  left  partly  open. 

"I  canna  sleep.  I  want  a  joojoob," 
said  Macgregor  again. 

John  sighed.  He  gazed  longingly  at 
the  wee  drawer.  Then  he  pulled  him- 
self together  and  looked  back  at  his 
son.  "Ye  canna  get  a  joojoob,  ma  wee 
man,"  he  said,  sadly.  '.' Wull  I  tell  ye  a 
story?"  he  asked,  almost  despairingly. 

"Ay,"  replied  the  patient,  without 
much  enthusiasm.  "I  want  a — " 

"Whit    '11   I   tell   ye?"   inquired   the 
father,  hastily.     "Aboot  a  draygon?" 
4  37 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ay,"  languidly  assented  Macgregor. 
"Tell's  aboot  a  draygon,  and  gi'e  's  a — " 

"There  wis  yinst  a  draygon,"  began 
John,  without  delay,  "an*  it  leeved  in  a 
den." 

"  Hoo  big  wis  the  draygon,  paw?"  in- 
quired Macgregor,  with  faint  interest. 

"It  wis  bigger  nor  the  biggest  beast 
ye  seen  in  the  Zoo.  An'  it  wis  a'  cov- 
ered wi'  sclates,  an'  fire  an'  reek  cam' 
oot  its  mooth,  an'  when  folk  wis  gaun 
by  its  den  it  played  puff!  puff!  at  them, 
an'  roastit  them  wi'  its  breith,  an'  then 
it  ett  them." 

"Whit  wey  did  the  folk  no'  scoot 
watter  at  it,  paw?" 

"Dod,  Macgreegor,  ye  may  weel  speir 
that.  But,  ye  see,  the  folk  didna  scoot 
watter;  an'  at  last  the  king  o'  the  place 
begood  to  get  feart  he  wud  ha'e  nae  folk 
left  to  pey  him  taxes  an'  cry  'hurray!' 
when  he  gaed  ootbye,  an'  he  got  dizzens 
o'  bills  prentit  an'  pastit  up  a'  through 
the  toon  tellin'  the  folk  that  he  would 
gi'e  hauf  his  riches  an'  the  haun'  o'  his 
bewtiful  dochter  til  the  man  that  killt 
the  draygon.  An'  then  a  lot  o'  young 
lauds  said  they  wud  kill  the  monster  or 
33 


Wee    Macgreegor 

dee  in  the  attemp';  an'  they  dee'd,  an' 
wis  ett  up." 

"Whit  wey  did  they  no'  shoot  the 
draygon,  paw?"  asked  Macgregor,  with 
some  animation. 

"Aw,  ye  see,  guns  wisna  inventit." 

"Ay.     Whit  else,  paw?" 

"Keep  yersel'  ablow  the  claes,  ma 
mannie.  Weel,  efter  hunners  o'  fine 
braw  lauds  wis  roastit  an'  ett  up,  there 
wis  a  young  fairmer  cam'  furrit,  an' 
said  he  wis  gaun  to  ha'e  a  try.  An'  the 
folk  lauched  at  him,  fur  the  lauds  that 
wis  ett  up  wis  a'  rale  sojers  that  kent 
hoo  to  fecht.  But  the  young  fairmer 
didna  tak'  the  huff.  He  jist  askit  fur  a 
sword  an'  a  shield,  an'  when  he  got  them 
he  gaed  awa'  hame  to  his  tea,  singin'  wi' 
a  licht  hert.  Fur,  ye  see,  he  had  made 
a  plan.  An'  i'  the  mornin'  he  got  the- 
gither  a'  his  coos  an'  sheeps  an'  hens  an' 
jucks,  an'  chased  them  a'  doon  to  the 
draygon's  den.  An'  the  draygon  wis 
awfu'  hungry  that  mornin',  fur  it  hadna 
ett  ony  braw  lauds  fur  near  a  week;  an' 
when  it  seen  the  coos  an'  sheeps  an' 
hens  an'  jucks  comin',  it  lickit  its  lips, 
an'  cam'  oot  its  den,  an'  played  puff! 
39 


Wee    Macgreegor 

puff!  an'  roastit  them  a',  an'  ett  them 
up.  An'  when  it  wis  feenished  it  wis  jist 
as  fou's  a  wulk,  an'  it  warstled  intil  its 
den  to  ha'e  a  bit  nap.  It  hadna  been 
sleepin'  lang  afore  it  wis  waukened  wi' 
the  young  fairmer  cryin':  'Come  oot,  ye 
auld  draygon!  Come  oot  till  I  stab 
ye!'  It  never  let  bug  it  heard  him 
speakin',  an'  in  a  wee  while  the  young 
fairmer  keekit  intil  the  den  an'  gi'ed  it 
a  gey  sair  jag  i'  the  e'e  wi'  his  sword. 
An'  then — " 

"Did  he  pit  oot  its  e'e,  paw?" 
"  No'  exac'ly,  but  it  wis  a  gey  sair  jag. 
An'  then  it  begood  to  play  puff!  puff!  at 
the  young  fairmer,  but  it  wis  unco  short 
o'  breith  efter  eatin'  a'  the  coos  an' 
sheeps  an'  hens  an'  jucks.  An'  the 
young  fairmer  kep'  awa'  the  fire  and 
reek  wi'  his  shield  an'  gi'ed  the  draygon 
a  jag  in  its  ither  e'e,  an'  cried:  'Come 
oot,  ye  auld  taurry-biler  till  I  ca'  the 
heid  aff  ye!'  Wi'  that  the  draygon,  no' 
likin'  to  be  ca'ed  an  auld  taurry-biler, 
let  oot  a  roar,  an'  tried  fur  to  catch  the 
young  fairmer.  But  it  wis  jist  as  fou's 
a  wulk,  an'  hauf-blin'  furbye,  an'  as 
shin  as  it  pit  its  heid  oot  the  den  the 
40 


Wee    Macgreegor 

young  fairmer  stud  up  on  his  taes  an' 
brocht  doon  the  sword  wi'  a'  his  micht, 
an'  cut  aff  the  draygon's  heid,  an'  the 
draygon  wis  deid.  An'  then — " 

"Wis  it  bleedin',  paw?"  asked  Mac- 
gregor,  eagerly. 

44 Dod,  ay!  An'  then  the  young  fairm- 
er got  hauf  the  king's  riches  an'  mair- 
rit  his  dochter,  an'  wis  happy  ever  efter. 
An'  that's  a'  aboot  the  draygon." 

"Tell's  anither  story,  paw." 

John  told  two  more  stories,  and  at  the 
end  of  the  second  Macgregor  said: 

"I  likit  the  draygon  best.  I  want 
to  be  cairrit  noo." 

14  Na,  na,  I  daurna  tak'  ye  oot  yer  bed. " 

"Hap  me  weel,  an'  cairry  me,  paw," 
said  the  boy. 

Eventually  his  father  gave  in,  rolled 
him  in  a  blanket,  and  began  to  pace  the 
kitchen  floor. 

"Mairch!"  commanded  Macgregor. 
4 'An'  whustle  tae,"  he  added;  "whustle 
like  a  baun'!" 

John  obligingly  began  to  whistle  "The 
Girl  I  Left  Behind  Me,"  and  marched 
up  and  down  the  kitchen  till  Macgregor 
expressed  himself  satisfied. 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Sing  noo,  paw." 

"Is  yer  held  no'  bad?" 

"No'  sae  bad  as  it  wis.     Sing,  paw!" 

"Vera  weel,"  said  John,  sitting  down 
with  his  burden  at  the  fireside. 

"I  want  to  see  ootbye,"  said  the 
burden. 

So  John  went  over  to  the  window, 
and  they  looked  into  the  street  below, 
where  the  lamps  were  being  lit. 

"  Leerie,  leerie,  licht  the  lamps, 
Lang  legs  an*  crookit  shanks," 

sang  John,  softly. 
Then: 

"  I  had  a  little  powny, 
Its  name  wis  Dapple  Grey. 
I  lent  it  til  a  leddy 
To  ride  a  mile  away. 
She  whuppit  it,  she  lashed  it, 
She  ca'ed  it  through  the  mire — 
I'll  never  lend  my  powny 
Fur  ony  leddy 's  hire!" 

"Sing  anither,"  said  Macgregor. 

"  Wee  Jokey-Birdy,  tol-lol-lol, 
Laid  an  egg  on  the  winda-sole. 
The  winda-sole  begood  to  crack — 
Wee  Jokey-Birdy  roared  an'  grat." 
42 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Sing  anither,"  said  Macgregor. 

John  sang  another  half-dozen  rhymes, 
and  then  Macgregor  expressed  himself 
willing  to  leave  the  window  for  the  fire- 
side. "Sing  'A  wee  bird  cam','  paw," 
he  murmured,  putting  his  arm  a  little 
further  round  his  father's  neck.  It  was 
probably  the  old  tune  that  appealed  to 
the  boy,  for  he  lay  very  still  while  John 
hummed  the  verses,  swaying  slightly 
from  side  to  side,  and  gently  beating 
time  with  one  hand  on  his  son's  shoulder. 
When  the  song  was  ended  there  was  a 
short  silence,  and  then  Macgregor  sighed, 
lazily,  "Sing  'Leerie'  again,  paw." 

"Leerie,"  so  far  as  John  knew  it,  was 
a  poem  of  two  lines  set  to  a  tune  made 
out  of  three  notes,  but  he  sang  it  over 
and  over  again,  softly  and  soothingly: 

"  Leerie,  leerie,  licht  the  lamps, 
Lang  legs  an'  crookit  shanks"; 

and,  having  repeated  it  perhaps  thirty 
times,  he  ceased,  for  Macgregor  had 
fallen  sound  asleep. 

When  Lizzie,  with  wee  Jeannie  slum- 
bering  in  her  arms,  came  in  ten  minutes 
later,   John   was   sitting   alone  by  the 
fireside  in  the  semi-darkness. 
43 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  Is  he  sleepin'  ?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"Dod,  ay!"  said  John. 

"That's  guid.  He  wisna  wauken 
when  I  wis  oot?" 

"Aw,  jist  fur  a  wee  while.  I  didna 
gi'e  him  ony  joojoobs,  Lizzie,"  said 
John,  with  a  quiet  laugh,  pointing  to 
the  wee  drawer  in  the  dresser,  "but  I 
wis  gey  sair  temp  tit." 


"  "I  X  7HEN  I'm  a  man,  "observed  Mac- 

V  V  gregor,  leaning  against  the  knees 
of  his  father,  who  was  enjoying  an  even- 
ing pipe  before  the  kitchen  fire — ' '  when 
I'm  a  man,  I'm  gaun  to  be  a  penter." 

"A  penter,"  echoed  John.  "D'ye 
hear  whit  Macgreegor's  sayin',  Lizzie?" 
he  inquired  of  his  wife. 

Lizzie  moistened  her  finger  and  thumb, 
twirled  the  end  of  a  thread,  and  inserted 
it  into  the  eye  of  a  needle  ere  she  re- 
plied. ' '  Whit  kin'  o'  a  penter  ?  Is  't  pict- 
ur's  ye're  wantin'  to  pent,  Macgreegor?' 

"  Naw!"  said  her  son,  with  great  scorn. 
"I'm  gaun  to  ha'e  a  big  pot  o'  pent  an'  a 
big  brush,  an'  I'm  gaun  to  staun'  on  a 
ladder,  an'  pent  wi'  white  pent,  an' 
rid  pent,  an'  bew  pent,  an' — " 

"Aw,  ye're  gaun  to  be  a  hoose-penter, 
Macgreegor,"  said  his  father. 

"Ay.  But  I'm  gaun  to  pent  shopes 
tae.  An'  I'm  gaun  to  ha'e  big  dauds  of 
45 


Wee    Macgreegor 

potty  fur  stickin'  in  holes.  I  like  potty. 
Here  a  bit!"  And  Macgregor  produced 
from  his  trousers-pocket  a  lump  of  the 
grayish,  plastic  substance. 

"Feech!"  exclaimed  Lizzie,  in  dis- 
gust. "  Whaur  got  ye  that?  Ye  '11  jist 
file  yer  claes  wi'  the  nesty  stuff." 

"Wullie  Thomson  whiles  gets  potty 
frae  his  paw.  Wullie's  paw's  a  jiner." 

"I  thocht  you  an'  Wullie  had  cast 
oot,"  said  John.  "  Ha'e  ye  been  makin' 
freens  wi'  him  again?" 

"  Naw.  But  I  seen  him  wi'  the  potty, 
an'  I  askit  him  for  a  daud." 

"It  wis  rale  nice  o'  the  laddie  to  gi'e 
ye  a  bit,"  remarked  Lizzie,  looking  up 
from  her  seam. 

"He  didna  gi'e  it,  maw.  I  tuk  it 
frae  him." 

"Aw,  Macgreegor!"  said  Lizzie,  shak- 
ing her  head,  reproachfully. 

"Wullie's  bigger  nor  me,  maw." 

"Ay;  but  he's  gey  wake  i'  the  legs." 

"I  hut  him,  an'  he  tummilt;  an'  I 
jist  tuk  hauf  his  potty,"  said  Macgreg- 
or, unconcernedly. 

John  was  about  to  laugh,  when  he 
caught  his  wife's  eye. 
46 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"An'  hoo  wud  ye  like,"  she  said,  ad- 
dressing her  son,  "if  yer  paw  gi'ed  ye 
potty,  an'  anither  laddie  cam'  an' — " 

"Paw  hasna  ony  potty." 

John  sniggered  behind  his  hand. 

"Weel,"  said  Lizzie,  casting  her  hus- 
band a  severe  look,  and  turning  again 
to  her  son,  "hoo  wud  ye  like  if  yer 
paw  gi'ed  ye  taiblet,  an'  anither  laddie 
cam'  an'  tuk  hauf  o'  't  awa'?" 

"I  wud  gi'e  him  yin  on  the  neb 
twicet!"  said  Macgregor,  boldly,  going 
over  to  the  window  to  see  the  lamps 
being  lighted. 

"  But  if  he  hut  ye  an '  knockit  ye  doon  ? ' ' 

"I  wudna  let  him.  Paw  hasna  gi'ed 
me  taiblet  fur  a  lang  while,"  said  the 
boy  over  his  shoulder. 

"Macgreegor,"  said  his  mother,  sol- 
emnly, "I'm  thinkin'  ye're  gettin'  waur 
every  day." 

"Aw,  the  wean's  fine,  Lizzie,"  inter- 
posed John,  softly. 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  John,"  retorted 
Lizzie,  quietly.  "The  wean's  no  fine! 
An'  instead  o'  lauchin'  at  him  an'  makin' 
a  pet  o'  him,  ye  ocht  to  be  gi'ein'  him 
a  guid  skelpin'." 

47 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  I've  never  skelpit  a  wean  yet,  an' — " 

"It's  easy  seen  ye've  never  skelpit 
Macgreegor,  John.  Ye  jist  let  him  get 
his  ain  wey,  an'  he  disna  ken  when  he's 
misbehavin'  hissel'.  Weans  needs  to 
be  checkit  whiles." 

"Aweel,  whit  dae  ye  want  me  to  dae, 
Lizzie?" 

"I  want  ye  to  punish  Macgreegor  for 
hittin'  that  puir  speldron  o'  a  laddie, 
Wullie  Thomson,  an'  stealing  his  potty," 
said  Lizzie,  in  an  undertone. 

Macgregor  came  back  from  the  win- 
dow with  the  putty  plastered  over  his 
nose. 

"Paw,  see  ma  neb!"  he  said,  gayly, 
unaware  of  the  conversation  which  had 
just  passed  concerning  him. 

John  laughed  loudly.  "  Dod,  but  ye've 
a  braw  neb  the  nicht,  Macgreegor!" 

"Tak'  it  aff  this  meenit!"  cried  Lizzie. 
"John,  ye  micht  think  shame  o'  yersel' 
to  sit  there  lauchin'  at  his  nesty  tricks! 
D'  ye  no'  mind  hoo  Mrs.  Cochrane's  man 
tell 't  us  his  neb  wis  aye  bew  wi'  him 
pittin'  potty  on  't  when  he  wis  a  wean? 
.  .  .  Tak'  it  aff,  Macgreegor,  or  I'll  sort 
ye!" 

48 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Macgregor,  but  little  abashed,  re- 
turned to  the  window,  removed  the 
offending  plaster,  rolled  it  into  a  ball, 
and  proceeded  to  squeeze  it  through 
his  fingers  with  undisguised  relish. 

"John,"  whispered  Lizzie,  "dae  whit 
I  tell 't  ye." 

"I  canna,"  returned  John,  miserably. 
"It  micht  wauken  wee  Jeannie,"  he 
added,  a  little  hopefully. 

"I  didna  exac'ly  say  ye  wis  to^— to 
wheep  the  laddie,"  said  his  wife,  "but 
ye  maun  gi'e  him  a  lesson  he'll  no'  fur- 
get.  I'm  no'  gaun  to  ha'e  him  boastin' 
an'  ill-usin'  ither  weans.  D'  ye  see?" 

"But  whit  am  I  to  dae,  Lizzie?" 

"I'll  tell  ye,  John.  Ye'll  gang  ower 
to  the  dresser  an'  open  the  wee  drawer, 
an'  ye'll  tak'  oot  the  taiblet  ye  brocht 
hame  fur  Macgreegor  the  morn —  Are 
ye  listenin'?" 

"Ay,  wumman." 

"An'  ye'll  tell  Macgreegor  ye  bocht 
the  taiblet  fur  his  Setterday  treat, 
thinkin'  he  deservit  it,  but  ye've  fun' 
oot  he  disna  deserve  it,  an'  ye  canna 
gi'e  him  ony." 

"Aw,  Lizzie!" 

49 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"An'  ye'll  tie  up  the  paircel,  an'  gar 
him  tak'  it  roon  the  corner  to  Wullie 
Thomson,  an'  gi'e  it  to  Wullie  Thomson, 
an'  gi'e  him  back  his  potty  furbye." 

"Aw,  Lizzie!" 

"An'  it'll  be  a  lesson  to  Macgreegor 
no'  to  strike  laddies  waker  nor  hissel'. 
Ye  wud  be  gey  sair  pit  aboot,  John,  if 
a  muckle  laddie  wis  strikin'  Macgreeg- 
or." 

"Deed,  wud  I!  But — but  Macgreeg- 
or's  that  fond  o'  taiblet." 

"Man,  man,  can  ye  no'  think  o' 
whit's  guid  fur  Macgreegor?  That's  the 
wey  ye  spile  him,  John.  Ye  wud  gi'e 
him  the  cock  aff  the  steeple  if  he  cried 
fur't!" 

"Maybe  ye're  richt,  Lizzie.  But  it's 
a  hard  thing  ye're  askin'.  Wud  it  no* 
dae  to  gi'e  him  hauf  the  taiblet  to  tak' 
to  Wullie  Thomson?" 

"  Na,  na,"  said  Lizzie,  firmly.  "  Here, 
Macgreegor,"  she  called  to  her  son. 
"Yer  paw  wants  to  speak  to  ye.  .  .  . 
Noo,  John!" 

With  a  huge  sigh,  John  rose,  went  to 
the  wee  drawer  in  the  dresser,  and  re- 
turned with  the  poke  of  "taiblet." 
50 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Paw,"  said  Macgregor,  absently,  "I 
like  taiblet  better  nor  potty." 

The  father  glanced  appealingly  at  the 
mother,  but  she  was  adamant.  She 
had  resumed  her  needle,  but  was  keep- 
ing an  eye  on  the  twain. 

"Macgreegor,"  said  John,  with  a  pain- 
ful effort,  "whit  wey  did  ye  strike  puir 
Wullie  Thomson?" 

"I  wantit  a  wee  daud  o'  potty." 

"Ay,"  murmured  John,  and  paused 
for  a  moment.  "Are  ye  sorry  ye  hut 
him?" 

"Naw.     I  got  the  potty,  paw." 

"But  ye  sud  be  sorry,  Macgreegor." 

"Whit  wey,  paw?" 

"Wis  he  greetin'?" 

"Ay;  wis  he!" 

John  looked  across  at  i^izzie  for  aid, 
but  she  was  sewing  diligently. 

"Weel,"  he  said,  haltingly,  "yer 
maw  an'  me's  no'  vera  pleased  wi'  whit 
ye  done  to  Wullie  Thomson.  It  wisna 
fair  to  strike  the  likes  o'  him." 

Macgregor's  visage  began  to  assume 
an  anxious  expression. 

"Yer  maw,"  continued  John — "yer 
maw  says  ye  canna — " 

5* 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"John!"  murmured  Lizzie,  warningly. 

"  Yer  maw  and  me  thinks  ye  canna  get 
ony  taiblet  the  morn." 

Macgregor's  under-lip  shot  out  quiv- 
ering. 

"An' — ye've  got  to  gi'e  the  taiblet 
to  Wullie  Thomson,  an'  gi'e  him  back 
his  potty,  furbye,  an' — an' — oh,  Lizzie, 
I  canna  say  ony  mair!" 

It  took  a  few  seconds  for  the  dire 
truth  to  dawn  upon  Macgregor,  but 
when  it  did  a  low  wail  issued  from  him, 
and  the  tears  began  to  flow. 

John  was  about  to  lift  him  onto  his 
knee,  but  Lizzie  interposed. 

"Pit  on  yer  bunnet,  Macgreegor,"  she 
said,  quietly,  "an'  tak'  the  taiblet  an' 
potty  roon  to  Wullie  Thomson.  It's  no' 
dark  yet,"  she  added,  glancing  out  of  the 
window. 

"  I'm  no'  wantin'  to  gi'e  the  taiblet  to 
Wullie  Thomson,"  sobbed  the  luckless 
youngster. 

"Ye've  jist  to  dae  whit  ye're  tell 't," 
returned  his  mother,  calmly,  but  not  un- 
kindly. "Ye're  no'  to  be  a  tawpy 
noo,"  she  went  on,  endeavoring  to  dry 
his  eyes.  "Ye're  to  be  a  man.  Whit 
52 


Wee    Macgreegor 

wud  Wullie  Thomson  think  if  he  seen 
ye  greetin'?  Eh,  Macgreegor?" 

Lizzie  had  struck  the  right  note. 
The  sobs  ceased,  though  the  breath  still 
came  gustily.  He  mopped  the  tears 
with  his  cap,  and  replaced  it  on  his 
head. 

"Am  I  to  gi'e  him  a'  the  taiblet  an' 
the  potty  furbye?"  he  inquired,  plain- 
tively. 

"Ay.  An'  ye're  to  say  ye're  sorry 
fur  hurtin'  him.  He's  no'  a  fine,  strong 
laddie  like  yersel',  Macgreegor — mind 
that !  Yer  paw  an'  me  wudna  like  if  ye 
wis  wake  i'  the  legs  like  puir  Wullie. 
Noo,  jist  gang  roon  an'  gi'e  him  the 
taiblet  an'  his  potty,  an'  see  if  ye  canna 
mak'  freen's  wi'  him  again." 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  to  be  freen's,"  said 
Macgregor,  rebelliously.  "I'm  no' 
wantin'  to  gang." 

"Are  ye  feart  fur  Wullie  Thomson?" 
asked  Lizzie.  Another  clever  stroke! 

"I'm  no'  feart!     I'll  gang!" 

"Fine,  man!"  cried  John,  who  had 
been  listening  in  gloomy  silence.  "I 
kent  ye  wisna  feart." 

Macgregor  began  to  feel  himself 
s  53 


Wee    Macgreegor 

rather  a  hero.  In  dignified  silence  he 
took  the  poke  of  "taiblet,"  which  his 
mother  had  tied  securely  with  a  piece 
of  tape  from  her  work-bag,  and  departed 
on  his  errand. 

John  looked  anxiously  to  Lizzie. 

She  sat  down  to  her  seam  again,  but 
her  fingers  were  less  deft  than  usual. 
They  both  eyed  the  clock  frequently. 

"  He  sudna  be  mair  nor  five  meenits," 
remarked  John.  "I  doot  we  wis  ower 
hard  on  the  wean,  wumman." 

Lizzie  made  no  response,  and  ten 
minutes  dragged  slowly  past. 

"Did  ye  expec'  he  wud  dae  't?"  asked 
John,  presently. 

"Och,  ay!"  she  answered,  with  affect- 
ed carelessness. 

"I  wisht  I  had  went  wi'  him,"  said 
John. 

Lizzie  put  in  half  a  dozen  stitches 
in  silence.  Then  she  said:  "Ye  micht 
gang  roon  an'  see  whit's  keepin'  him, 
John." 

"I'll  dae  that,  Lizzie.  .  .  .  Dae  ye 
think  I  micht  buy  him  a  bit  taiblet  when 
I'm  ootbye?"  He  asked  the  question 
diffidently. 

54 


Wee    Macgreegor 

His  wife  looked  up  from  her  seam. 
"If  ye  like,  John,"  she  said,  gently. 
"I'm  thinkin'  the  laddie's  had  his  lesson 
noo.  He's  unco  prood  fur  to  be  a  wean, 
is  he  no'?" 

"Ay,"  said  John.  "There's  no'  mony 
like  Macgreegor."  He  nodded  to  his 
wife,  and  went  out. 

About  twenty  minutes  later  father 
and  son  re-entered  the  house  together. 
Both  were  beaming. 

"I  cudna  get  Macgreegor  awa'  frae 
Wullie  Thomson,  Lizzie,"  said  John, 
smiling. 

"Weel,  weel,"  said  his  wife,  looking 
pleased.  "An'  did  ye  gi'e  Wullie  the 
taiblet  an'  the  potty,  Macgreegor?" 

"Ay,  maw." 

Whereupon  his  mother  caught  and 
cuddled  him.  "Gi'e  him  a  bit  taiblet, 
John,"  she  said. 

John  did  so  right  gladly  and  gener- 
ously, and  Macgregor  crumped  away 
to  his  heart's  content. 

"An'  whit  kep'  ye  waitin'  at  Wullie's 
a'  this  time?"  inquired  Lizzie,  pleas- 
antly. 

"He  gi'ed  me  a  big  daud  o'  potty, 
55 


Wee    Macgreegor 

maw,"  said  the  boy,  producing  a  lump 
the  size  of  an  orange. 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Lizzie,  trying  sort 
to  look  annoyed. 

"An1  him  an'  me  ett  the  taiblet," 
added  Macgregor. 


"  T  TECH!  Macgreegor,  ye're  gaun  ower 
II  quick  fur  me,"  gasped  Mr.  Purdie, 
as  the  youngster  whose  hand  he  held 
hurried  him  along  the  Rothesay  Espla- 
nade in  the  early  afternoon  sunshine. 
"I  cud  gang  quicker,  granpaw." 
"Deed,    ay!     Ye're   fine   an'    soople! 
But  the  boat  '11  no'  be  in  fur  mair  nor 
hauf  an  'oor.     Sae  we'll  jist  tak'  a  sate 
fur  a  wee.     I'm  gettin'  auld,  Macgreegor, 
I'm  gettin'  auld." 

"Ay,  ye're  gey  auld,"  said  Macgregor, 
agreeably. 

"But  I'm  no'  that  auld,"  said  Mr. 
Purdie,  hastily. 

They  took  a  seat  facing  the  bay. 
Macgregor  proceeded  to  haul  in  a  tin 
steamboat  which  he  had  been  dragging 
after  him  since  they  started  on  their 
walk,  while  his  grandfather  drew  from 
its  case  a  well  -  seasoned  meerschaum, 
removed  the  newspaper  plug  and 
57 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"dottle,"  laid  the  latter  on  the  top  of 
a  fresh  fill,  and,  at  the  expense  of 
seven  or  eight  matches,  lit  up. 

"I  see  a  boat  comin',"  exclaimed 
Macgregor  ere  they  had  been  seated 
for  five  minutes. 

"Whaur?  ...  Oh  ay,  But  that's 
no'  the  richt  boat.  Wait  till  ye  see  a 
boat  wi'  twa  yella  funnels." 

"I  like  rid  funnels  better  nor  yella 
yins.  Whit  wey  is  maw  comin'  in  a 
boat  wi'  yella  funnels?" 

"Yer  maw  disna  like  the  watter,  an' 
the  boats  wi'  yella  funnels  dinna  come 
sae  faur  as  the  boats  wi'  rid  funnels. 
That's  jist  the  wey  o'  it,  Macgreegor. 
Ha'e!  Pit  thae  in  your  gab." 

"I  like  peppermint  lozengers,"  ob- 
served Macgregor,  drawing  in  his  breath 
to  get  the  full  effect.  "I  like  leemon- 
ade,  furbye,"  he  added,  presently. 

"Are  ye  dry?" 

"Ay." 

"Aweel,  ye'll  mayoe  get  a  botle  afore 
we  gang  to  the  pier.  Whit  ha'e  ye  been 
daein*  to  yer  steamboat?  It's  a'  bash- 
ed— see!" 

"A  laddie  trampit  on  it,"  said  Mac- 

58 


Wee    Macgreegor 

gregor,  holding  up  his  toy.  "But  the 
string  gaed  roon  his  leg  an'  coupit  him 
an'  he  gaed  awa'  greetin'.  Whit  wey 
is  there  no'  a  baun'?"  he  inquired,  look- 
ing round  at  the  bandstand. 

"It's  no'  the  season  yet." 

"Whit  wey  is  't  no'  the  season?  I 
like  a  baun'  wi'  a  big  drum.  Wull 
there  be  a  baun'  the  morn,  granpaw?" 

"Na,  na.  No'  till  the  simmer.  If 
ma  hoast's  no'  better  I'll  maybe  bide 
in  Rothesay  till  the  simmer,  and  then 
ye '11  come  back  an'  stey  wi'  yer  granny 
an'  me,  an'  gether  wulks,  an'  dook,  an' 
hear  the  baun'." 

"Is  yer  hoast  bad  the  noo?" 

"Ay;  it's  gey  bad  at  nicht,  Macgreeg- 
or." 

"I  yinst  had  an  awfu'  sair  hoast," 
said  Macgregor,  thoughtfully.  "I  got 
code-ile.  If  you  wis  takin'  code-ile  ye 
micht  be  better  afore  the  simmer,  gran- 
paw." 

Mr.  Purdie  smiled.  "  Wud  ye  like  ma 
hoast  to  be  better  afore  the  simmer, 
Macgreegor?" 

"Ay.  I  —  I  wud  like  to  bide  in 
Rothesay  tae.  I  dinna  like  wulks,  but 

59 


Wee    Macgreegor 

I  like  pickin'  them  oot  awfu'.     I  dinna 
like  dookin',  but  I  like  paidlin'." 

"I'm  thinkin'  I'll  try  the  code-ile, 
Macgreegor." 

"It's  rale  nesty  to  tak'.  .  .  .  But  it 
micht  mak'  yer  hoast  better  afore  the 
simmer.  .  .  .  Rothesay's  a  nice  place; 
is  't  no'?  .  .  .  I'm  gaun  ower  to  luk  at 
the  watter."  Macgregor  slipped  off  the 
seat,  and,  dragging  his  steamboat  behind 
him,  went  over  to  the  railings  of  the 
esplanade. 

"Ye 're  no'  to  sclim  up,"  cried  Mr. 
Purdie,  rising  in  alarm.  "If  ye  wis 
fa'in'  in  there  ye  wud  be  droondit." 

"There's  an  awfu'  lot  o'  watter  the 
day,"  remarked  the  boy  as  his  grand- 
father put  an  arm  around  him. 

"Ay,  ye  see  the  tide's  in." 

"Oh,  there  a  wee  fish!  D'ye  no'  see 
it,  granpaw?  There  anither!" 

"Ye've  better  sicht  nor  me.  Noo, 
noo,  ye're  no'  to  lean  ower  that  wey. 
Ye  canna  soom,  ye  ken.  An'  whit  wud 
yer  maw  say  if  ye  fell  in?" 

"She  wud  gi'e  me  ile — no'  the  code-ile, 
but  the  ither  ile.     It's  faur  waur.     I'm 
gaun  fur  to  sail  ma  boat  noo." 
60 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ye  canna  sail  it  there." 

"Ay,  can  I!  See!"  Macgregor  low- 
ered his  toy  with  the  string  till  it  touched 
the  water  a  yard  beneath  them.  After 
several  partial  swampings  it  was  induced 
to  float  on  a  comparatively  even  keel. 
"It's  soomin'!"  he  exclaimed  in  tri- 
umph as  he  jerked  it  about.  And  then 
the  string  slipped  from  his  ringers.  He 
turned  to  his  grandfather  in  dire  dis- 
may. 

"Puir  laddie,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  look- 
ing about  for  help  in  the  shape  of  a  row- 
ing craft. 

"Ma  boat,  ma  boat!"  wailed  Mac- 
gregor, softly. 

Old  Mr.  Purdie  went  down  on  his 
knees,  suppressing  a  groan  as  he  did  so, 
laid  his  pipe  on  the  ground,  and,  lean- 
ing over  the  edge,  endeavored  to  secure 
the  string  with  his  walking-stick.  For 
several  minutes  he  wrought,  but  all  in 
vain,  and  then  Macgregor  cried  out  that 
his  boat  was  sinking.  It  was  too  true! 
Damaged,  doubtless,  by  many  a  stormy 
passage  on  dry  land,  and  also  by  being 
tramped  upon,  the  luckless  vessel  had 
gradually  filled,  and  now  it  was  being 
61 


Wee    Macgreegor 

slowly  but  surely  submerged.  Mr. 
Purdie,  in  great  distress,  endeavored 
to  save  it  with  his  stick  by  getting  a 
hold  of  the  metal  rigging,  but  his  sight 
was  poor  and  his  hand  shaky,  and  he 
only  succeeded  in  giving  it  a  prod  amid- 
ships, which  precipitated  the  disaster. 
Down,  down,  in  ten  feet  of  clear  water 
it  quietly  sank,  while  its  owner  could 
do  naught  but  watch  and  wail,  "Ma 
boat,  ma  boat!" 

Mr.  Purdie  rose,  rubbing  his  knees 
and  coughing.  "I'm  rale  vexed,  Mac- 
greegor," he  began. 

Crunch  ! 

"Ma  pipe,  ma  pipe!" 

Alas!  troubles  never  come  singly. 
Macgregor  had  lost  his  beloved  boat; 
Mr.  Purdie  had  trod  upon  and  reduced 
his  dear  old  pipe  to  atoms. 

"Ma  boat,  ma  boat!" 

"Ma  pipe,  ma  pipe!" 

The  boy  gazed  despairingly  into  the 
depths;  his  grandfather  stared  gloomily 
at  the  ground. 

"Dinna  greet,  laddie,"  said  Mr.  Pur- 
die, at  last. 

"I'm  no'  greetin',"  returned  Mac- 
62 


Wee    Macgreegor 

gregor,  rubbing  his  eyes  with  his  sleeve 
and  sniffing  violently.  Then  he  per- 
ceived the  trouble  which  had  befallen 
his  companion. 

"Whit  wey — "  he  began,  and  stopped, 
stricken  dumb  by  the  distress  in  the  old 
face. 

"Macgreegor,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  tak- 
ing out  a  shabby  purse,  "  ye'll  maybe  get 
yer  boat  when  the  tide  gang  oot.  I'll 
tell  the  man  ower  thonder  to  keep  his  e'e 
on  it.  An' — an'  ye 're  no'  to  greet." 

"I'm  no'  greetin',  granpaw." 

"Aweel,  I'm  rale  vexed  fur  ye.  An' 
I  wudna  like  ye  to  be  meetin'  yer  maw 
wi'  sic  a  lang  face.  Ha'e!  There's  a 
saxpence,  Macgreegor.  Jist  rin  ower  to 
the  shopes  an'  buy  onythin'  ye  ha'e  a 
fancy  fur,  an'  I'll  wait  fur  ye  here.  Noo, 
ye  dinna  need  to  gang  faur — jist  ower 
the  road.  An'  haste  ye  back,  fur  it's 
near  time  fur  yer  maw's  boat."  Hav- 
ing thus  delivered  himself,  Mr.  Purdie 
heaved  a  big  sigh  and  looked  once  more 
at  the  wreckage  at  his  feet.  The  meer- 
schaum had  been  a  presentation,  and  he 
had  valued  it  exceedingly.  "It  wis 
gettin'  auld  like  hissel',  but  it  wisna 
63 


Wee    Macgreegor 

near  dune  yet,"  had  been  the  substance 
of  a  frequent  remark  of  his  friends  to 
him  during  the  last  five  or  six  years. 
And  now — now  it  was  "dune." 

"Are  ye  no'  gaun  to  the  shopes?"  he 
asked  his  grandson,  who  was  still  look- 
ing at  the  sixpence. 

"Ay.  I'm  gaun,"  said  Macgregor. 
"Thenk  ye,  granpaw,"  he  added,  re- 
membering for  once  his  mother's  good 
instructions.  And,  his  small  visage 
wreathed  in  smiles  of  joyful  anticipa- 
tion, he  ran  off. 

Mr.  Purdie  saw  him  disappear  into  a 
fancy-goods  emporium,  and  then  stoop- 
ed down  and  gathered  the  fragments  of 
his  pipe  into  a  large  red  handkerchief, 
which  he  carefully  deposited  in  a  side- 
pocket  of  his  coat.  After  that  he 
marked  the  place  where  Macgregor's 
toy  had  sunk,  and  toddled  along  to  tell 
the  nearest  boat-hirer  to  look  out  for 
the  wreck  at  low  water.  He  was  be- 
ginning to  get  anxious  when  Macgregor 
reappeared  jubilant,  dragging  behind 
him  a  clattering  object. 

"Did  ye  buy  anither  boat?"  inquired 
Mr.  Purdie,  feeling  rather  disappointed, 
64 


Wee    Macgreegor 

for  the  boat-hirer  had  assured  him  that 
the  wreck  could  easily  be  recovered. 

"It's  no'  a  boat,"  said  Macgregor, 
smiling.  "It's  a  beast." 

"A  beast?" 

"Ay,  granpaw.     A  aggilator." 

"A  whit?" 

"Aggilator!  That's  whit  the  wife  in 
the  shope  said  it  wis.  Luk  at  its  taes! 
It  can  soom,  but  I'm  no'  gaun  to  pit  it 
in  the  sea." 

Mr.  Purdie  examined  the  new  pur- 
chase. "Oh,  I  see,"  he  said,  at  last. 
"It's  whit  they  ca'  a — a — a  crocidile, 
Macgreegor." 

"Naw,  it's  no'  a  crocidile,  granpaw, 
it's  a  aggilator." 

"Weel,  weel,  it's  a  queer  like  thing 
to  buy  onywey;  but  if  ye're  pleased  wi' 
it,  that's  a'  aboot  it.  Noo,  it's  time  we 
wis  gaun  to  meet  yer  maw." 

Macgregor  gave  his  disengaged  hand 
to  his  grandfather,  and  they  proceeded 
pierward.  Silently  they  went  for  a 
minute,  at  the  end  of  which  Macgregor 
remarked:  "I  didna  spend  a'  my  sax- 
pence  on  ma  aggilator,  granpaw." 

"  Did  ye  no'  ?    Whit  did  ye  pey  fur  't?" 

65 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  Fowerpence.  I  bocht  a  wheen  strip, 
pit  ba's." 

"Did  ye?" 

"Ay,  but  I  didna  spend  a'  the  tip- 
pence  on  them." 

"  Ye  wud  keep  a  penny  fur  yer  pooch, 
like  a  wice  laddie." 

"Naw.  I  bocht  ye  a  pipe,  granpaw," 
said  Macgregor,  grinning.  He  released 
his  hand  and  dived  into  his  pocket. 

"Weel,  I  never!"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  re- 
ceiving a  small  paper  parcel  from  his 
grandson.  "To  think  the  wean  mindit 
me!"  he  murmured  to  himself.  He 
patted  Macgregor  on  the  head  and  re- 
moved the  paper. 

"It's  an  awfu'  nice  kin'  o'  pipe, 
granpaw,"  said  Macgregor.  "Ye  pit 
watter  intilt,  an'  then  ye  blaw,  an'  it 
whustles  like  a  birdie!" 

Mr.  Purdie  fairly  gaped  at  the  in- 
strument of  torture  in  his  hand.  For 
a  moment  he  seemed  to  be  stunned. 
Then  he  exclaimed,  "It  bates  a'!"  and 
Went  into  a  fit  of  chuckling,  which  was 
only  stopped  by  the  advent  of  a  "  hoast." 

"Dae  ye  like  it,  granpaw?"  asked 
Macgregor. 

66 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Fine,  laddie,  fine!"  said  Mr.  Purdie, 
when  he  had  recovered  his  breath. 
"Dod,  ye're  paw'll  ha'e  a  guid  lauch 
when  he  sees  ma  new  pipe.  Ye'll  ha'e 
to  learn  me  to  play  on 't,  though." 

"Ay,  I'll  learn  ye,"  said  Macgregor, 
graciously,  and  he  looked  much  gratified 
at  the  prospect. 

"Can  ye  see  the  boat  comin'?"  in- 
quired the  old  man,  a  little  later. 

"Ay.  It's  comin'  frae  the  licht- 
hoose." 

"  Weel,  it  '11  no'  be  in  fur  a  wee  yet. 
We'll  jist  tak'  a  sate  on  the  pier." 

"Ay,  granpaw.  .  .  .  I'm  gey  dry." 

"Tits!  I  near  forgot  yer  leemonade. 
But  we'll  shin  pit  that  richt,  Mao 
greegor." 


VII 

IT  was  evident  that  the  Robinson 
family,  as  it  tramped  along  Argyll 
Street  that  Saturday  afternoon,  was 
bent  on  business  of  importance.  Lizzie 
and  wee  Jeannie  were  dressed  in  their 
best,  which  would  take  rather  long  to 
describe;  Macgregor  had  on  his  Sunday 
suit  and  a  new  glengarry  bonnet;  and 
John  wore  his  pot  hat  a  little  to  one 
side,  and  suffered  from  a  high,  tight 
collar,  the  points  of  which  nipped  his 
neck  every  time  he  moved  his  head. 

"Are  we  near  there,  paw?"  inquired 
Macgregor,  looking  up  to  his  father's  face. 

John  looked  down  at  his  son,  smother- 
ed an  exclamation  of  agony,  and  re- 
plied in  the  affirmative. 

"Whit  wey  dae  folk  get  likenesses 
tooken?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  Dod,  ye  may  weel  speir,  Macgreegor! 
It's  yer  maw  wants  a  pictur'  fur  to  gi'e 
to  yer  granpaw  Purdie." 
68 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  to  be  tooken,  paw." 

"Are  ye  no',  ma  man?  Deed  I'm 
gey  sweirt  masel'.  But  yer  maw  wants 
the  pictur'." 

"Whit's  that  ye're  sayin'  to  Macgreeg- 
or, John?"  said  Lizzie. 

"Aw,"  replied  her  husband,  turning 
to  her,  and  wincing  as  the  collar  bit 
him,  "Macgreegor  an'  me  wis  thinkin' 
we  wis  feart  fur  the  photygrapher." 

"Oh  ay,"  said  Lizzie,  with  a  good- 
humored  smile.  "Aweel,  wee  Jeannie 
an'  me  '11  no'  let  him  hurt  ye — wull  we, 
ma  doo?  But  whit's  wrang  wi'  ye, 
John?  Ye're  makin'  maist  frichtsome 
faces!" 

"It's  the  collar,  wumman.  Ye  wud 
ha'e  me  to  pit  it  on." 

"It  luks  rale  nice.  Is 't  a  wee  thing 
ticht?" 

"Dod,  it's  like  to  nip  the  neck  aff 
me!" 

"Never  heed,  John.  It'll  come  oot 
fine  in  the  photy graph.  Mercy  me! 
whaur's  Macgreegor?" 

They  retraced  their  steps  anxiously, 
and  discovered  their  son  standing  on 
the  curb,  gazing  longingly  at  the  barrow 
*  69 


Wee    Macgreegor 

of  a  vendor  of  hokey-pokey  or  some 
similarly  elusive  dainty. 

"Macgreegor,  tak'  yer  paw's  haun', 
an'  dinna  let  me  catch  ye  stravaygin' 
awa'  again,  or  ye '11  get  nae  carvies  to 
yer  tea,"  said  Lizzie,  glad  enough  to 
have  found  the  youngster  so  speedily. 

"John,"  she  added,  "fur  ony  sake, 
keep  a  grup  o'  the  wean." 

"Come  on,  Macgreegor,"  said  John, 
holding  out  his  hand.  "We're  jist  com- 
in'  to  the  photygrapher's." 

Presently  they  began  to  climb  a  long, 
narrow  stair. 

"Gi'e  wee  Jeannie  to  me,  Lizzie,"  said 
John. 

"Ay;  ye'll  manage  her  better  nor  me. 
I'm  no'  wantin'  to  be  photygraphed 
wi'  a  rid  face  an'  pechin,"  said  Lizzie, 
handing  over  her  burden,  on  receipt  of 
which  John  suffered  fresh  torments  from 
his  collar. 

"Maw,  wull  I  get  ma  likeness  tooken 
wi'  ma  greengarry  bunnet  on?"  asked 
Macgregor,  as  they  toiled  upward. 

"Ye'll  see  whit  the  man  says,"  re- 
turned his  mother. 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  him  to  tak'  it  aff." 
70 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Weel,  weel,  ye '11  see  whit  he  says." 

"Wull  ye  tak'  aff  yer  ain  bunnet, 
maw?" 

"That's  a  daft-like  thing  to  be  askin'." 

"Whit  wey— " 

"Whisht,  whisht!"  said  Lizzie,  who 
was  evidently  anxious  to  save  her 
breath. 

At  last  they  reached  the  top  flat,  and 
were  accommodated  with  seats  in  the 
reception-room.  Lizzie  took  wee  Jean- 
nie  on  her  knee,  and  proceeded  to  make 
the  child  as  neat  as  a  new  pin,  conversing 
with  her  the  while. 

"Paw,"  inquired  Macgregor,  staring 
at  a  number  of  photographs  on  the  wall, 
"whit  wey  dae  folk  mak'  faces  when 
they  get  their  likenesses  tooken?" 

"Thae's  jist  real  faces,"  said  John, 
laughing  and  putting  his  hand  to  his 
throat. 

"  Can  I  get  makin'  a  face  when  I'm 
gettin'  ma  likeness  tooken?" 

"Yer  maw  wudna  like  that." 

"Whit  wey,  paw?" 

"Och,  jist — jist  because  she  wudna. 
See,  Macgreegor,  yer  maw's  wantin' 
ye." 

7' 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Lizzie  beckoned  the  boy  to  her. 
"Macgreegor,  pu'  up  yer  stockin',  an' 
dinna  screw  yer  face  like  that.  .  .  .  Oh, 
laddie,  whit  wey  did  ye  gang  an'  mak' 
yer  heid  sae  toosie?  Staun'  till  I  get  yer 
hair  to  lie."  She  fished  a  comb  from 
her  pocket  and  used  it  till  she  had  re- 
duced the  unruly  locks  to  order.  "Noo, 
sit  doon  on  that  chair,  an'  dinna  stir  a  fit 
till  the  man's  ready  fur  us.  John!" 

"Weel,  Lizzie?" 

"Come  ower  here  till  I  pu'  doon  yer 
jayket.  It  gars  ye  look  fair  humphy 
backit." 

"Hoots,  wumman,  I'm  no'  gaun  to 
get  ma  back  took  en,"  said  John,  coming 
over,  nevertheless. 

"Ye  never  ken  hoo  ye '11  get  tooken," 
said  Lizzie,  sagely.  "I  wis  lukin'  at 
some  o'  the  pictur's  here,  an'  some  o' 
them's  no'  jist  whit  I  wud  ca'inchantin'." 

"Ye  better  no'  let  wee  Jeannie  see 
them,  or  she'll  be  gettin'  frichtit.  Eh, 
wee  Jeannie,  whit  dae  ye  say,  ma 
duckie?"  he  said,  laughing  and  chuck- 
ing his  daughter  under  the  chin. 

"Paw!"  exclaimed  wee  Jeannie. 
"Paw-aw-aw!" 

72 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Fine,  lassie,  fine!"  cried  her  father. 
He  was  in  great  form  now,  his  collar- 
stud  having  given  way  a  minute  previ- 
ously. 

"  Noo,  yer  jayket's  lyin'  better,  John," 
said  his  wife.  "But  yer  tie — oh,  man, 
yer  tie's  awa'  up  the  back  o'  yer  heid!" 

"I  canna  help  it,  wumman.  If  I  pit 
on  yin  o'  thae  masher  collars,  ma  tie  slips 
ower  it,  as  shair's  daith!" 

"But  whit  wey  dae  ye  no'  use  the 
tabs?" 

"  Och,  I'm  fur  nane  o'  yer  tabs!  Nev- 
er heed,  Lizzie.  I'll  pu'  it  doon  masel'." 

"Tits!"  exclaimed  Lizzie.  "I  near 
had  it  that  time!  Noo — noo  I've  got  it. 
There!" 

At  the  word  of  triumph  the  tie  slipped 
into  its  place,  but  the  collar  flew  open. 

"Whit's  ado  wi'  ye,  John?"  she  cried, 
a  little  crossly.  "  Whit  wey  did  you  un- 
button it?" 

"The  stud's  broke!" 

"  The  stud's  broke  ?  Oh,  John,  an'  you 
gaun  to  ha'e  yer  photygraph  tooken!" 

"Ach,  it's  a'  richt,  dearie.     I'll  jist 
button  my  jayket,  an'  that  '11  haud  h 
thegither.     See,  that's  fine!" 
73 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Oh,  John,"  she  began,  but  just  then 
a  voice  requested  the  family  to  step 
into  the  adjoining  room. 

"Mind,  John,  it's  to  be  a  caybinet 
growp,"  whispered  Lizzie,  as  she  took  a 
last  survey  of  wee  Jeannie  and  Mac- 
gregor. 

John  explained  his  wishes  to  the  pho- 
tographer, and  presently  the  group  was 
arranged — Lizzie  with  wee  Jeannie  on 
her  knee,  Macgregor  standing  beside  her 
with  his  toes  turned  well  out,  and  John 
behind  with  one  hand  resting  affection- 
ately on  her  shoulder.  Then  the  pho- 
tographer dived  under  the  black  cloth. 

"Whit's  he  daein',  paw?"  inquired 
Macgregor,  in  a  hoarse  whisper. 

"Whisht!"  murmured  Lizzie. 

"He's  spyin',"  said  John,  softly. 

"Whit  wey  is  he  spyin',  paw?" 

"Jist  to  see  hoo  we're  a'  behavin'," 
returned  his  father,  jocularly.  "Eh, 
Lizzie?" 

"Be  quate,  John!"  whispered  Lizzie, 
severely.  She  was  sitting  very  stiff  and 
dignified.  Wee  Jeannie  began  to  show 
signs  of  restlessness,  but  ere  long  the 
photographer  reappeared.  He  suggest- 
74 


Wee    Macgreegor 

ed  that  the  little  boy  should  remove  his 
hat,  and  that  the  gentleman  should 
open  his  jacket. 

"I'm  dune  fur  noo,"  muttered  John, 
with  a  wry  smile. 

"Macgreegor,  tak'  aff  yer  bunnet," 
said  Lizzie,  miserably,  fearful  of  what 
would  shortly  happen  behind  her. 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  to  tak'  aff  ma  bun- 
net,  maw,"  said  Macgregor. 

"  Dae  whit  ye're  tell 't.  Ye  can  haud 
it  in  yer  haun'." 

"Yes,  just  so.  Hold  your  bonnet  in 
your  hand,  my  little  man,"  said  the 
photographer,  pleasantly. 

Macgregor  obeyed  sulkily. 

"Kindly  undo  all  the  buttons — all 
the  buttons,  please,"  said  the  photog- 
rapher to  John,  with  great  politeness, 
and  turned  to  the  camera. 

With  a  feeble  snigger  John  undid  the 
last  but  one.  Lizzie's  head  had  been 
sinking  lower  and  lower.  She  felt  she 
was  about  to  be  affronted. 

"Maw,"  said  Macgregor,  suddenly,  "I 
— I've  toosied  ma  heid.  Wull  I  pit  on 
my  greengarry  bunnet  again?" 

Lizzie  looked  up  quickly,  and  whipped 

75 


Wee    Macgreegor 

something  from  near  her  waist.  "John," 
she  said,  "gang  to  the  ither  room,  an' 
see  if  I  left  me  cairn  on  the  table." 
Her  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  "An' — 
an' — here's  twa  preens."  She  turned  to 
the  photographer.  "Ye'll  excuse  me 
keepin'  ye  waitin'  a  meenit,  sir?"  she 
said  to  him.  "This  laddie's  a  rale  wee 
tease,"  she  added,  softly. 

The  photographer  smiled  good-hu- 
moredly,  and  immediately  she  discov- 
ered that  the  comb  was  in  her  pocket, 
after  all.  She  tidied  her  son's  hair  care- 
fully, and  said:  "I  think  I  wud  like  him 
tooken  in  his  bunnet,  if  ye've  nae  ob- 
jections." 

"Oh,  very  well,"  replied  the  man, 
agreeably.  "His  expression  was  cer- 
tainly happier  with  it  than  without." 

John  entered  grinning,  his  jacket 
thrown  open.  "I  cudna  fin'  yer  cairn 
onywhere,  Lizzie." 

"Och,  I  had  it  in  ma  poket,  efter  a'. 
Noo,  we're  ready,  if  you  please,  sir,"  she 
said  to  the  photographer,  who,  without 
delay,  set  about  his  business. 

He  waited  till  the  smiles  had  died 
down  somewhat,  when  he  instructed 
76 


Wee    Macgreegor 

them  where  and  how  to  look,  and  made 
an  exposure,  which  Macgregor  spoiled  by 
scratching  his  nose  at  the  critical  mo- 
ment. 

"I  cudna  help  it,  paw.  Ma  neb  wis 
that  kitly,"  said  the  boy. 

"Weel,  ye  maun  jist  thole  the  next 
time,  Macgreegor.  Noo  he's  gaun  to 
tak'  anither  yin." 

"Whit's  that  wee  thing  he  scoots 
wi'?" 

"Whisht!" 

"Steady,  please,"  requested  the  pho- 
tographer. 

Wee  Jeannie  began  to  wriggle  on  her 
mother's  knee. 

"Oh,  see!  oh,  see!"  said  Lizzie,  point- 
ing to  the  camera.  "Oh,  see,  a  boney 
wee  winda!" 

"Paw,  whit's  inside  the  boax?"  asked 
Macgregor. 

"If  you  please,"  said  the  photogra- 
pher. "Now  when  I  say  three — One — 
two — th — " 

"Am  I  tooken,  paw?" 

"No'  yet,  Macgreegor,  no'  yet.  Ye 
near  spilet  anither  photygraph.  Keep 
quate,  noo." 

77 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Noona,  noona,"  said  Lizzie,  dan- 
dling wee  Jeannie,  who  was  exhibiting 
fractious  symptoms.  "Wee  Jeannie's 
gaun  to  ha'e  her  likeness  tooken  i'  the 
boney  wee  winda!  (My!  John,  I  wisht 
I  had  brocht  her  auld  jumpin'-jake.) 
Oh,  see!  oh,  see!" 

A  lull  at  last  occurred,  and  the  pho- 
tographer took  advantage  of  it;  and, 
after  another  period  of  unrest,  he  se- 
cured a  third  negative,  which  he  assured 
Lizzie  would  prove  highly  successful. 
John  had  expected  to  take  the  photo- 
graphs away  with  him,  but  his  wife 
informed  him  in  a  whisper  that  he 
mustn't  think  of  such  a  thing.  "Cay- 
binet  growps"took  time.  Matters,  hav- 
ing been  settled,  the  family  departed 
from  the  studio. 

"Maw,  wull  my  greengarry  bunnet 
ha'e  a  rid  toorie  in  the  likeness?"  in- 
quired Macgregor. 

"It'll  no'  be  rid,  onywey,  dearie." 

"Whit  wey,  maw?"  He  was  obvi- 
ously deeply  disappointed. 

"Speir  at  yer  paw,  ma  mannie." 

Macgregor  repeated  the  question. 

"Aweel,  if  it  disna  come  oot  rid," 
78 


Wee    Macgreegor 

said  John,  "I'll  ha'e  it  pentit  rid  fur  ye. 
Dod,  I  wull,  fur  ye're  jist  a  jool!  Is  he 
no,  Lizzie?" 

"  Oh,  wee  toosie  heid!"  cried  his  moth- 
er, with  a  laugh  and  a  sigh. 


'R 


VIII 

IN  to  the  door,  Macgreegor,  an'  see 


who  was  engaged  in  feeding  wee  Jeannie 
with  tit-bits  from  the  Saturday  dinner- 
table. 

Stuffing  half  a  potato  into  his  mouth, 
the  boy  slipped  from  his  chair  and 
obeyed  orders. 

"  It's  maybe  Mrs.  M'Ostrich,"  remark- 
ed Lizzie  to  her  husband. 

"Whit  wud  she  be  wantin'?"  inquired 
John,  who  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
looking  perfectly  satisfied  with  life,  and 
idly  whittling  a  match  into  a  tooth- 
pick. 

"  I  wis  expec'in'  her  to  bring  back  the 
things  she  got  the  len'  o'  yesterday." 

"Whit  things?" 

"Did    I    no'    tell    ye?     Aweel,    Mrs. 

M'Ostrich  wis  ha'ein'  comp'ny  last  nicht, 

an'  she  speirt  if  I  wud  len'  her  the  twa 

bew  vazes,  an'  the  mauve  tidy  wi'  the 

80 


Wee    Macgreegor 

yella    paurrit    on    it,    an'    the    cheeny 
mulk-joog,  an'  a  wheen  ither  things." 

"Dod,  she's  no  blate!" 

"Aw,  puir  wumman,  she  hasna  muckle 
in  her  hoose,  an'  she's  that  fond  o' 
comp'ny." 

"Deed  she  micht  ha'e  askit  us  yins 
til  her  pairty!"  said  John,  laughing 
good-naturedly. 

"Ye  ken  fine  ye  wudna  gang  til  her 
pairty  if  she  askit  ye  a  thoosan'  times. 
But  whit's  keepin'  Macgreegor?  .  .  . 
Macgreegor,  whit's  keepin'  ye?" 

"I'm  comin',  maw,"  replied  a  choked 
voice. 

"Weel,  haste  ye!  .  .  .  It's  no'  been 
Mrs.  M' Ostrich,  efter  a'.  Deed,  I  hope 
she  hasna  chippit  the  bew  vazes.  .  .  . 
Here,  Macgreegor,  wha  wis  at  the  door?" 

"It  wis  postie,  maw." 

"Whit  kep'  ye?" 

"He's  gied  me  a  cheuch  jean,  an' 
I've  ett  it,  an'  here's  a  letter  fur  paw." 

"Tits,  laddie!  Ye're  ower  chief  wi' 
the  postman.  Whit's  the  big  letter 
aboot,  John?" 

"Whit  dae  ye  think,  Lizzie?"  asked 
her  husband,  grinning. 
81 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  I  ken  whit  it  is,"  put  in  Macgregor, 
"fur  I  keekit  in.  It's  ma  likeness!" 

''John!  is  't  the  photygraphs?" 

"Ay,  is  it!" 

"Aw,  John,  quick! — let  me  see!  My! 
I  thocht  they  wis  never  comin'.  Mind 
ye  dinna  file  them,  John,  an'  dinna  let 
Macgreegor  tich  them  till  he's  washed 
his  hauns.  .  .  .  Oh,  wee  Jeannie,  ye're 
gaun  tae  see  yer  boney  likeness! — eh, 
ma  doo?  .  .  .  Macgreegor,  mak' a  clean 
plate,  and  then  wash  yer  hauns.  .  .  . 
John,  John,  yer  fingers  is  a'  thoombs! 
Can  ye  no'  open  it?" 

"Ye're  in  an  awfu'  hurry,  Lizzie," 
said  John,  teasingly,  pretending  to 
fumble  with  the  packet.  "Maybe  ye'll 
shin  be  wishin'  I  hadna  opened  it." 

"  Ach,  awa'  wi'  ye!  I  ken  the  pictur's 
is  first  -  class.  Come  on,  John.  Nane 
o'  yer  palavers!" 

So  John  opened  the  packet,  which 
contained  six  very  highly  polished  cabi- 
nets, and,  after  a  moment's  inspection, 
burst  into  a  great  guffaw. 

"Man,  ye're  jist  a  big  wean!"  said 
his  wife,  a  little  impatiently.  "Let  me 
see  yin  o'  them." 

82 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"There  ye  are,  wumman.  Dod,  it's 
rale  comic!" 

"I  want  yin,  paw,"  said  Macgregor. 

"An'  ye'll  get  yin,  ma  mannie.  Ha'e! 
Whit  dae  ye  think  o'  that?" 

Macgregor  studied  the  photograph  for 
half  a  minute,  and  then  looked  up  at  his 
father  with  an  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment. 

"Whit  wey  is  ma  toorie  no'  rid,  paw?" 
he  demanded. 

John  stopped  smiling,  and  looked  un- 
comfortable. 

"Ye  said  it  wud  be  rid,"  said  the  boy. 

"Ay,  I  mind  I  said  I  wud  tell  the 
man  to  pent  it  rid,  but — but  I  clean  fur- 
got.  It's  a  braw  likeness,  though — is  't 
no',  Macgreegor?" 

"I  wantit  ma  toorie  to  be  rid,  an' 
it's  black,"  said  Macgregor,  coldly. 

"I'm  rale  vexed  I  furgot  to  tell  the 
man.  .  .  .  Lizzie,  did  ye  hear  whit  Mac- 
greegor wis  saying?" 

"Eh?"  said  Lizzie,  who  had  been 
delightedly  occupied  in  examining  the 
details  of  the  family  group  and  pointing 
out  some  of  them  to  wee  Jeannie. 

"  Macgreegor's    no'    pleased    at    his 

83 


Wee    Macgreegor 

btmnet  no'  ha'ein'  a  rid  toorie,"  said 
John.  "  Ye  see,  I  furgot  to  tell  the  man 
to  pent  it  rid." 

"  It's  jist  as  weel,  John,  fur  it  wud  be 
a  daft-like  thing  to  ha'e  a  rid  toorie 
in  a  photy graph." 

"But  ma  bunnet's  toorie's  rid, maw," 
said  her  son. 

"Ay,  dearie.  But  rid  an'  bew  an' 
yella  an'  ither  colors  canna  be  tooken 
in  a  likeness." 

"Whit  wey  can  they  no'  ?" 

"I  canna  tell  ye  that.  An'  it  wudna 
be  vera  nice  to  pit  pent  on  a  photy- 
graph." 

"Whit  wey,  maw?" 

"Aw,  it  jist  wudna  be  nice.  .  .  .  Dis 
wee  Jeannie  ken  her  paw?  Dis  she?" 
Lizzie  cried,  returning  to  the  photo- 
graph and  her  daughter.  "Ay,  fine  she 
kens  her  paw!" 

"It's  mair  nor  her  paw  dis,"  observed 
John,  a  trifle  dejectedly.  "I'm  lukin' 
as  if  I  wis  a  toff  gaun  to  be  chokit,  wi' 
that  masher  collar." 

"Ye 're  lukin'  fine,  John,"  said  his 
wife.  "An'  I'm  rale  gled  I  got  ye  to 
pit  on  the  collar.  Ye're  a  wee  bit 
84 


Wee    Macgreegor 

solemn;  but  I  dinna  care  to  see  a  man 
ower  jocose-like  in  a  phot y graph;  it 
gars  me  think  o'  the  likenesses  in  the 
papers  o'  folk  that  ha'e  been  cured  o' 
indisgeestion.  .  .  .  Ah!  ye  wee  cutty!" 
— this  to  wee  Jeannie — "ye're  no'  to  pit 
the  boney  pictur'  in  the  gravy!" 

"I  dinna  think  it's  a  boney  pictur'," 
observed  Macgregor,  who  was  nursing 
his  chagrin.  "  It's  a  nesty  auld  pictur' !" 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  Macgreegor,"  said 
his  mother. 

"It's  an  ugly  auld  pictur'!  I  dinna 
like  it  a  wee  tate!  I  wudna — " 

"  Sh-h-h!  Ye're  no'  to  talk  that  silly 
wey.  Yer  granpaw  Purdie  11  be  weel 
pleased  wi'  it — wull  he  no',  John?" 

"I  hope  he  wull,  Lizzie.  It's  no' 
bad,  takin'  it  a'  thegither,  but — " 

"I  tell 't  Granpaw  Purdie  it  wud  ha'e 
a  rid  toorie,  an' — an'  it  hasna,"  said 
Macgregor. 

"  Och,  whit's  aboot  a  rid  toorie?"  said 
his  mother,  laughing. 

"But  I'm  rale  vexed  aboot  it,"  said 
his  father,  gravely.  "I  promised  Mac- 
greegor the  toorie  wud  be  pentit  rid, 
an'—" 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Weel,  Macgreegor  canna  ha'e  it  rid 
noo,  an'  that's  jist  a'  aboot  it." 

"An'  I  tell't  Wullie  Thomson  it  wud 
be  rid,  and  Wullie  Thomson  tell 't  a'  the 
ither  laddies,"  said  the  youngster,  with 
a  quaver  in  his  voice. 

"  Ye  sudna  ha'e  tell 't  onybody  it  wud 
be  rid  till  ye  wis  shair  o'  't,"  remarked 
Lizzie. 

"But  I  wis  as  shair  's  onythin'.  Paw 
said  it  wud  be  rid!" 

The  unintentional  reproach  rendered 
John  dumb  with  misery. 

"  Ye  best  gang  oot  an'  play  fur  a  wee," 
said  Lizzie. 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  to  gang  oot,"  re- 
plied her  son,  sulkily. 

"Ye'll  jist  dae  whit  I  bid  ye,  Mac- 
greegor. Wee  Jeannie's  gaun  to  ha'e  a 
nap,  for  she  wis  restless  last  nicht,  an' 
she  wudna  sleep  i'  the  forenune.  Sae  aff 
ye  gang,  ma  mannie,  an'  ye'll  get  carvies 
to  yer  tea.  But  dinna  gang  faur,  mind." 

"Maybe  Macgreegor's  no'  wantin'  to 
gang  ootbye,"  said  John,  with  an  effort. 

"That  wud  be  somethin'  new.  Awa' 
wi'  ye,  Macgreegor,  an'  play  wi'  Wullie 
Thomson." 

86 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Very  unwillingly  Macgregor  departed. 

"John,  ye  sudna  interfere  when  I'm 
tellin'  Macgreegor  to  dae  this  or  that," 
said  Lizzie,  softly,  as  she  patted  her 
daughter,  who  was  nearly  asleep. 

"Weel,  I  daursay  I'm  wrang,  dearie. 
But  I'm  rale  vexed  fur  Macgreegor. 
Did  ye  no'  see  hoo  sweirt  he  wis  to  gang 
ootbye?" 

"He's  whiles  gey  dour,  ye  ken." 

"Ay,  but  it  wisna  a'  dourness.  The 
puir  laddie  wis  feart  o*  bein'  whit  ye 
wud  ca'  affrontit." 

"Affrontit?" 

"Ay,  jist  that.  Fur  whit  wis  he  to 
say  if  Wullie  Thomson  an'  the  ither 
laddies  askit  him  aboot  his  likeness? 
Ye  see,  Lizzie,  I've  nae  doot  he's  been 
boastin'  a  wee  aboot  gettin'  a  pictur'  of 
hissel'  wi'  a  rid  toorie — an'  noo — " 

"Hoots,  John!  It's  no  sic  a  serious 
maitter  as  a'  that." 

"It's  gey  serious  to  the  wean.  Mac- 
greegor's  unco  prood,  an'  it  '11  be  a  sair 
job  fur  him  to  tell  the  laddies  aboot  his 
pictur'  no'  ha'ein'  a  rid  toorie,  efter  a'." 

"He  sudna  ha'e  boastit." 

"Aw,  Lizzie!" 

87 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"He  needna  tell  the  laddies." 

"But  that's  jist  whit  he'll  dae,  fur 
they'll  no'  furget  to  ask  him,  an'  he'll  no' 
tell  a  lee." 

"I  ken  that,  John." 

"Weel,  then,  the  laddies  '11  lauch  at 
him  an'  mak'  a  mock  o'  him  fur  guid 
kens  hoo  lang  aboot  his  rid  toorie." 

"I'll  sort  them  if  they  mak'  a  mock  o' 
ma  laddie,"  exclaimed  Lizzie, indignantly. 

"Na,  na.  Ye  canna  dae  that,  wum- 
man.  The  wean's  jist  got  to  suffer,  an' 
it's  a'  ma  fau't — a'  ma  fau't." 

Lizzie  rose  without  replying,  and,  hav- 
ing deposited  wee  Jeannie  in  bed,  set 
about  clearing  the  dinner-table.  When 
she  had  finished  washing-up  she  turned 
to  John,  who  was  smoking  "up  the 
lum"  in  a  melancholy  fashion. 

"  I  wis  wonderin'  if  ye  cudna  get  a  rid 
toorie  pentit  yet,"  she  said. 

"Dae  ye  mean  that,  Lizzie?"  he  ex- 
claimed, starting  up. 

"Ay.  It  wud  please  the  wean,  an' 
yersel'  furbye.  An'  cud  ye  no'  jist 
dae  't  yersel'?" 

"But  I've  nae  pent.  An'  it  wud  be 
gey  difficult  to  pent  on  that  glossy  stuff 
88 


Wee    Macgreegor 

unless   ye  kent  the   wey,"   said  John, 
thoughtfully  regarding  the  photograph. 

"It  jist  wants  a  wee  tick  o'  rid,  dis 
it  no'?" 

"Ay,  jist  a  wee  tick,  an' —  dod,  wum- 
man,  I  ken  whit  '11  dae!"  cried  John,  in 
sudden  ecstasy. 

"  Whisht,  whisht!  Mind  wee  Jeannie. 
Weel,  whit  is  it?" 

"Whit  d  'ye  think?" 

"I  cudna  guess." 

"Jist  a  wee  tick  o'  a  penny  stamp," 
replied  the  husband,  in  a  triumphant 
whisper. 

"Noo,  if  that's  no'  clever!"  mur- 
mured Lizzie,  admiringly.  "An'  I've  a 
stamp  in  ma  purse,  fur  I  wis  gaun  to 
write  to  Mrs.  Purdie  to  tell  her  we  cudna 
gang  to  wur  tea  on  Wensday.  My! 
John,  ye're  a  faur-seein'  man,  and  Mac- 
greegor '11  be  that  pleased." 

A  minute  later  the  twain  were  seated 
at  the  table  with  a  photograph  between 
them. 

"I'm  thinkin'  ye're  a  braw  wumman, 
Lizzie,"  said  John. 

"  Ye're  jist  a  blether,"  said'Lizzie,  with- 
out looking  the  least  offended. 
89 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Presently  she  handed  over  her  scis- 
sors, and  John  cut  "a  wee  tick"  from 
the  stamp  which  she  had  already  given 
him. 

"Canny,  noo,  John,"  she  muttered. 
"It  wud  be  a  peety  to  spile  the  photy- 
graph." 

"I'll  manage  it,"  he  returned.  .  .  . 
Dod,  but  I've  swallowed  it!" 

"Tak"  anither  wee  tick,  John." 

Another  "wee  tick"  was  taken  from 
the  stamp  and  successfully  affixed  to 
the  tiny  "toorie"  of  Macgregor's  bonnet 
as  it  appeared  in  the  photograph.  Then 
John  sat  up,  regarding  his  handiwork 
with  no  small  satisfaction. 

"Eh,  Lizzie?" 

"Fine,  John!" 

"The  wean  'ill  be  pleased?" 

"Deed,  ay." 

The  twain  beamed  upon  each  other. 

When  Macgregor  came  in  he  found 
them  still  beaming,  and  he  beamed  also. 

"  Weel,  ma  mannie,"  said  John,  gayly, 
"wis  ye  playin'  wi'  Wullie  Thomson?" 

"Ay,  paw.  I  wis  playin'  wi'  Wullie 
an'  the  ither  laddies  at  tig,  an'  I  never 
wis  het!" 

9® 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ye  didna  say  onythin'  aboot  rid 
toories,  did  ye?"  inquired  his  father, 
with  a  surreptitious  wink  at  Lizzie,  who 
had  the  photograph  under  her  apron. 

"Ay.  I  tell 't  them  I  wisna  gaun  to 
ha'e  a  rid  toorie  in  ma  likeness,  because 
a  black  yin  wis  finer." 

"An'  whit  did  they  say  to  that?" 
asked  Lizzie. 

"They  a'  said  it  wis  finer  excep'  Tarn 
Jamieson,  an'  I  hut  him  on  the  neb,  an' 
then  he  said  black  wis  finer  nor  rid." 

"But,  Macgreegor,"  said  John,  mo- 
tioning to  Lizzie  to  keep  silence,  "wud 
ye  no'  like  a  pictur'  wi'  a  rid  toorie  on 
yer  bunnet?" 

"Nae  fears!"  returned  Macgregor, 
with  sublime  contempt.  "I'm  no'  fur 
rid  toories  ony  mair,  paw." 

John  and  Lizzie  looked  helplessly  ait 
each  other. 


IX 


CH,  wumman,  I'm  no'  heedin' 
aboot  Mrs.  M' Ostrich  an'  her  pair- 
ty,"  said  John,  as  he  folded  a  strip  of 
newspaper  with  which  to  light  his  pipe. 

"Aw,  but  ye'll  gang,  John,"  said 
Lizzie,  persuasively. 

"Are  ye  wantin'  to  gang  yersel'?" 

"Weel,  ye  see,  it's  no'  as  if  I  wis  oot 
every  ither  nicht,  an' — " 

"  Dod,  then,  we'll  jist  gang.  I  doot  I 
whiles  furget  ye're  in  the  hoose  a'  day; 
an'  ye've  had  a  gey  sair  time  wi'  wee 
Jeannie  fur  twa-three  weeks.  Ay,  we'll 
jist  gang." 

Lizzie  looked  pleased.  "When  Mrs. 
M' Ostrich  wis  in  this  mornin'  to  get  the 
len'  o'  ma  bew  vazes,  an'  the  mauve 
tidy  wi'  the  yella  paurrit  on  it,  an'  a 
wheen  ither  things,  she  says  to  me,  says 
she:  '  Mrs.  Robison,  ye're  weel  aff  wi'  yer 
man';  and  then  she  says — " 

"Hoots!"  interrupted  John,  "I'm 
92 


Wee    Macgreegor 

thinkin'  Mrs.  M'Ostrich  is  an  auld 
blether." 

"Auld  blethers  whiles  say  a  true 
word , ' '  observed  his  wife .  Then ,  fearing 
perhaps  she  was  expressing  too  much 
in  the  way  of  sentiment,  she  became 
suddenly  practical.  "I've  a  braw  sark 
ready  fur  ye.  I  done  it  up  the  day." 

"Am  I  to  pit  on  ma  guid  claes?" 

"Oh  ay,  John." 

"But  no'  a  staun'-up  collar?" 

"Aw,  John!  An'  I've  a  beauty  jist 
waitin'  fur  ye.  Ye  luk  that  smairt  in 
a  staun'-up  collar.  I  wis  thinkin'  o' 
that  when  I  wis  ernin'  it,  an'  if  ye 
had  jist  seen  hoo  carefu' — " 

"Ach,  Lizzie,  ye  get  ower  me  every 
time!  If  ye  wis  tellin'  me  to  gang  to 
Mrs.  M*  Ostrich's  pairty  wi'  yin  o'  wee 
Jeannie's  rid  flannen  goonies  on,  I  wud 
jist  ha'e  to  dae  "t!" 

"  Havers!"  cried  his  wife,  laughing  the 
laugh  of  a  woman  who  gains  her  point. 
"We'd  best  be  gettin'  ready  shin." 

"But  whit  aboot  the  weans?"  asked 
John. 

"  Macgreegor's  comin'  wi'  you  an'  me. 
Mrs.  M'Ostrich  said  we  wis  to  bring 
93 


Wee    Macgreegor 

him,  fur  I  tell 't  her  I  wis  sweirt  to  leave 
him  in  the  hoose." 

"That's  guid!"  said  her  husband,  with 
a  smile  of  satisfaction.  "Macgreegor 
likes  pairties." 

"I  hope  he'll  no'  affront  us,  John." 

"Aw,  the  wean's  fine,  Lizzie.  An' 
whit  aboot  wee  Jeannie?" 

"She'll  sleep  soon,  an'  Mrs.  M'Faur- 
lan's  comin"  to  sit  in  the  hoose  till  we 
get  back." 

"I  see  ye've  arranged  it  a',"  he  said, 
good-humoredly.  "Whit  wud  ye  ha'e 
dune  if  I  had  said  I  wudna  gang?" 

"Ah,  but  I  kent  ye  wud  gang.  .  .  . 
Ye  micht  rin  doon  the  stair  the  noo  an' 
get  a  haud  o'  Macgreegor.  He's  ootbye 
playin'  wi'  Wullie  Thomson.  They've 
baith  got  sookers,  an'  they  like  fine 
when  the  streets  is  kin'  o'  wat.  I 
dinna  think  sookers  is  vera  nice  things 
to  play  wi'." 

"I  yinst  had  yin  masel',  an'  I  near 
got  the  nick  for  pu'in'  the  stanes  oot 
the  streets.  .  .  .  Weel,  I'll  awa'  an'  see 
efter  Macgreegor." 

Later  in  the  evening  the  trio  set  out 
for  the  abode  of  Mrs.  M' Ostrich,  who, 
94 


Wee    Macgreegor 

as  Lizzie  was  wont  to  remark,  "hadna 
muckle  in  her  hoose,  puir  thing,  but 
wis  that  fond  o'  comp'ny."  Mrs. 
M' Ostrich,  however,  never  had  the  least 
hesitation  in  borrowing  from  her  friends 
any  decorative  article  she  did  not  possess, 
so  that  her  little  parlor  on  the  occasion 
of  one  of  her  parties  was  decorated  in 
quite  gorgeous  style.  Her  chief  trouble 
was  her  husband,  who,  being  a  baker, 
retired  to  the  kitchen  bed  early  in  the 
evening,  and  snored  with  such  vigor  and 
enthusiasm  that  the  company  in  the 
other  room  heard  him  distinctly.  Mrs. 
M' Ostrich  had  tried  many  devices,  in- 
cluding that  of  a  clothes-pin  jammed  on 
the  snorer's  proboscis,  but  all  without 
avail.  In  the  case  of  the  clothes-pin, 
Mr.  M' Ostrich,  who  had  meekly  sub- 
mitted to  its  being  fixed,  had  shortly 
after  suffered  from  a  sort  of  nightmare, 
and,  half  awake,  had  startled  a  party  in 
the  parlor  by  frantic  beatings  on  the  wall 
and  weird  yellings  to  the  effect  that 
some  one  was  trying  to  suffocate  him. 
After  that  he  was  allowed  to  snore  in 
peace,  and  Mrs.  M' Ostrich  had  to  ex- 
plain to  any  new  visitors  the  meaning  of 
95 


Wee    Macgreegor 

the  disturbance.  This  she  did  to  John 
and  Lizzie  immediately  on  their  arrival. 

They  were  the  last  of  the  guests  to 
appear,  the  six  others  being  already 
seated  round  the  parlor,  doing  a  little 
talking  and  a  good  deal  of  staring  at  the 
decorations,  the  number  and  glory  of 
which  seemed  to  have  quite  paralyzed 
a  little  woman  who  sat  in  the  window. 

"Maw,"  whispered  Macgregor,  who 
had  been  accommodated  with  a  hassock 
at  his  mother's  feet,  "thon  bew  vazes  is 
awfu'  like  oor  yins." 

"Whisht!"  said  Lizzie.  .  .  .  "As  ye 
wis  sayin',  Mrs.  M' Ostrich — " 

"  Maw,  there  a  tidy  wi'  a  yella  paurrit 
on  thon — " 

"Whisht,  Macgreegor!"  said  Lizzie, 
giving  her  son  a  severe  look. 

"He's  a  shairp  laddie,"  observed  Mrs. 
M'Ostrich,  who  did  not  really  mind,  so 
long  as  her  guests  recognized  only  their 
own  particular  contributions  to  the 
grandeur  of  her  surroundings. 

"Awa'  an'  sit  aside  yer  paw,  Mac- 
greegor," said  Lizzie.  .  .  .  "John,  see  if 
ye  can  keep  Macgreegor  quate." 

The  boy  dumped  his  hassock  over 
96 


Wee    Macgreegor 

the  feet  of  two  of  the  company,  and 
squatted  beside  his  father.  He  felt 
rather  out  of  his  element  among  so 
many  adults,  most  of  them  elderly,  and 
he  was  disturbed  at  seeing  his  father 
looking  so  stiff  and  solemn. 

A  dreary  half-hour  went  by,  at  the 
end  of  which  he  could  keep  silence  no 
longer. 

"Paw,"  he  said  to  his  parent,  who 
was  listening  conscientiously  to  the  long 
story  of  a  Mrs.  Bowley  concerning  her 
husband's  baldness — "paw,  whit's  that 
noise?" 

"Aw,  never  heed,  ma  mannie,"  re- 
plied John,  aware  that  the  noise  pro- 
ceeded from  the  slumbering  Mr.  M' Os- 
trich. "It's  jist  a  noise." 

"It's  awfu'  like  a  big  grumphy, 
paw." 

"Sh!     Ye're  no'  to  speak  the  noo." 

"If  I  had  a  big  grumphy — " 

"Whit's  the  laddie  sayin'?"  inquired 
Mrs.  Bowley,  smiling  so  kindly  that 
Macgregor  accepted  her  as  a  friend 
there  and  then. 

"It's  a  grumphy,"  he  explained,  con- 
fidentially. "Dae  ye  no'  hear  it?" 

97 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Mrs.  Bowley  laughed,  and  patted  his 
head.  "Ye  mauna  speak  aboot  grum- 
phies  the  noo,  dearie,"  she  whispered. 
"Here's  a  bit  sweetie  fur  ye." 

Macgregor  put  the  dainty  in  his 
mouth,  and  drew  the  hassock  a  trifle 
nearer  to  Mrs.  Bowley.  "Ye're  awfu' 
kind,"  he  said,  in  a  hoarse  undertone, 
and  he  and  the  good  lady  entertained 
each  other  for  quite  a  long  time,  much 
to  John's  relief. 

About  half-past  nine  the  company 
drew  as  near  to  the  oval  table  as  their 
numbers  permitted,  and  did  justice  to 
the  light  refreshments  which  the  hostess 
had  provided.  Macgregor,  ignoring  his 
mother's  warning  glances,  and  evidently 
forgetting  there  was  such  a  fluid  in  the 
world  as  castor-oil,  punished  the  pastry 
with  the  utmost  severity,  and  con- 
sumed two  whole  bottles  of  lemonade. 

"It's  an  awfu'  nice  pairty,  paw,"  he 
whispered,  when  the  chairs  had  been 
put  back  to  the  walls.  "Are  we  gaun 
name  noo?" 

Before  John  could  reply,  Mrs.  M' Os- 
trich requested  the  attention  of  the 
company  to  a  song  by  Mr.  Pumpher- 
98 


Wee    Macgreego* 

stem.  All  eyes  were  turned  on  a  large, 
middle-aged  man  in  one  corner  of  the 
room,  who  wiped  his  brow  repeatedly, 
and  appeared  very  uneasy. 

"Come  awa',  Mr.  Pumpherston,"  said 
Mrs.  M'Ostrich,  encouragingly.  "Jist 
ony  sang  ye  like.  Ye  needna  be  feart. 
We're  nane  o'  us  musical  crickets." 

"Ay,  come  awa',  Mr.  Pumpherston," 
murmured  several  of  the  guests,  clap- 
ping their  hands. 

"Is  he  a  comic,  paw?"  inquired,  Mac- 
gregor. 

"Whisht!"  said  Lizzie,  sighting  dan- 
ger ahead,  and  giving  John,  beside  whom 
she  was  now  sitting,  a  nudge  with  her 
elbow. 

Mr.  Pumpherston  shuffled  his  chair 
an  inch  forward,  fixed  his  eyes  on  the 
ceiling,  and  hummed,  "  Do,  me,  soh,  do, 
soh,  me,  do." 

"Ay,  he's  a  comic!"  said  Macgregor, 
in  a  delighted  whisper. 

Some  one  sniggered,  and  John  gently 
but  firmly  put  his  hand  over  his  son's 
mouth. 

"He's  jist  lukin'  fur  the  key,  as  it 
were,"  observed  Mrs.  Pumpherston,  the 
99 


Wee    Macgreegor 

little  lady  who  had  been  overcome  by 
Mrs.  M' Ostrich's  parlor  decorations. 
"He's  whiles  gey  slow  at  catchin'  the 
richt  key,  but  he'll  be  gettin'  it  in  a 
wee,"  she  added,  as  her  husband  con- 
tinued his  "Do,  me,  soh,  do,  soh,  me, 
do,"  to  the  intense  enjoyment  of  Mac- 
gregor,  who  quaked  on  the  hassock  in 
enforced  silence. 

At  last  Mr.  Pumpherston  started 
"Ye  Banks  and  Braes,"  but  when  half 
through  the  first  verse  was  compelled  to 
stop  and  make  search  for  a  lower  key. 

"It's  aye  the  wey  wi'  him,"  explained 
his  wife.  "But  when  yinst  he  gets  the 
richt  key  he  sings  it  weel  eneugh,  if  he 
disna  furget  the  words.  .  .  .  Ha'e  ye  got 
the  richt  key  noo,  Geordie?" 

"I  wis  near  it;  but  ye've  pit  me  aff 
it.  But  I'll  get  it  yet,"  quoth  Mr. 
Pumpherston,  determinedly.  And  he 
did  get  it  eventually,  and  regaled  the 
company  in  a  voice  surprisingly  small 
for  such  a  large  man. 

Macgregor   was   much    disappointed, 

if  not  indignant,  at  being  deceived,  as 

he  believed,  by  Mr.  Pumpherston;  but 

presently,   feeling  drowsy,   he   climbed 

100 


Wee    Macgreegor 

into  his  father's  arms  and  dropped  into 
a  peaceful  little  doze.  So  he  rested 
while  several  guests  contributed  songs, 
not  all,  by-the-way,  such  efforts  as  that 
of  Mr.  Pumpherston. 

Lizzie  and  John  were  congratulating 
themselves  upon  their  son's  good  be- 
havior during  the  evening  and  Mrs. 
Bowley  and  another  lady  had  just  fin- 
ished telling  them  what  a  "  braw  laddie  " 
they  were  so  fortunate  as  to  possess, 
when  Macgregor  awoke,  rubbed  his  eyes, 
and  stared  about  him. 

"Puir  mannie,  he's  jist  deid  wi' 
sleep,"  remarked  kindly  Mrs.  Bowley. 

"  He  is  that,"  assented  the  other  lady. 
"Are  ye  wearit,  dearie?" 

"There's  no'  mony  weans  wud  be- 
have theirsel's  like  him,"  observed  Mrs. 
M' Ostrich. 

Mrs.  Pumpherston  said  nothing,  but 
smiled  sourly.  Probably  the  youngster's 
opinion  that  her  husband  was  a  "comic " 
still  rankled. 

"It's  time  ye  wis  hame,  Macgreegor," 
said  Lizzie,  rising. 

But  Macgregor  heard  none  of  the 
foregoing  observations.  With  a  dreamy 

&  IOI 


Wee    Macgreegor 

look  in  his  eyes,  he  was  listening  in- 
tently. "I  hear  it,  I  hear  it,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

"  He's  no'  hauf  wauken  yet,"  said  Mrs. 
M' Ostrich. 

"Whit  dae  ye  hear,  daurlin'?"  in- 
quired Mrs.  Bowley. 

Macgregor  rubbed  his  eyes  again.  "  I 
hear  it!  .  .  .  It's  in  thehoose!  .  .  .  It's 
ben  the  hoose!  .  .  .  Paw,  tak'  me  ben 
till  I  see  the  big  grumphy!" 

For  a  moment  there  was  a  dead 
silence.  But  laughter  was  inevitable. 
Poor  Mrs.  M' Ostrich,  her  face  crimson, 
had  to  join  in,  but,  as  Mrs.  Bowley  re- 
marked to  a  friend  next  day,  she  was 
evidently  "sair  pit  oot." 

As  for  Lizzie,  after  a  hasty  apology 
and  good  -  bye,  she  hurried  John  from 
the  house,  and  never  opened  her  mouth 
till  they  were  in  their  own  kitchen.  On 
the  departure  of  Mrs.  M'Farlane,  who 
had  taken  good  care  of  wee  Jeannie,  Mac- 
gregor, three  parts  asleep,  was  put  to  bed 
with  scant  ceremony,  after  which  Lizzie 
collapsed  into  a  chair  and  looked  long  at 
her  husband. 

"Weel?"  she  said,  at  last. 

IO2 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Weel,  Lizzie?"  he  returned,  trying 
to  smile.  "Ye've  had  yer  nicht  oot." 

"Ay.     An'  it's  the  last!" 

"Toots,  havers!" 

"John,  I've  been  affrontit  afore,  but 
never  like  the  nicht.  Macgreegor — " 

"Aw,  the  wean  didna  mean  ony 
hairm.  He  sud  ha'e  been  tell 't  aboot 
Mrs.  M' Ostrich's  man." 

"Oh,  ye've  aye  an  excuse  fur  Mac- 
greegor. I'm — I'm  naebody!" 

"Lizzie,  wumman!"  He  got  up  and 
went  beside  her.  "Ye're  jist  a  boney 
wee  blether." 

"Ah,  I'm  no'  to  be  cajoled  that  wey, 
John." 

John  said  nothing;  but  he  tried  several 
other  ways,  and  did  succeed  in  "cajol- 
ing" her  at  last.  She  heaved  a  great 
sigh  and  smiled  back  to  him. 

"But,  dearie,  whit  are  we  to  dae  wi' 
the  wean?"  she  asked. 

"Guid  kens,"  said  John. 

And  suddenly  they  both  fell  a-laugh- 
ing. 


ID  INN  A  think  I'll  gang  oot  the  day, 
John,"  said  Lizzie.     "  Wee  Jeannie's 
that  girny.     I  doot  I'll  ha'e  to  gi'e  her 
ile,  puir  doo.     Ye  sudna  ha'e  gi'ed  her 
thon  bit  kipper  last  nicht." 

"Och,  Lizzie,  it  was  jist  a  tate  the 
size  o'  yer  nail." 

"Weel,  ye  ken  fine  she's  ower  wee 
fur  kippers,  John.  An'  ye  ken  I  wudna 
gi'e  her  that  kin'  o'  meat  masel'.  I'm 
shair  ye  micht  ha'e  mair  sense  nor  to 
gi'e  her  everythin'  she  cries  fur.  But 
it  canna  be  helpit  noo." 

"I'm  rale  vexed,  wumman,"  said 
John.  "I  think  I'll  bide  in  the  hoose. 
I'm  no'  heedin'  aboot  gaun  oot  the 
day." 

"Na,  na,  John.  Ye've  got  to  tak* 
Macgreegor  to  the  baun',  fur  ye  prom- 
ised the  wean." 

"Tak'  Macgreegor  yersel',  Lizzie,  an' 
I'll  mind  wee  Jeannie." 
104 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Toots,  havers!  Ye  see  I'm  no'  jist 
shair  if  it  wis  the  kipper  that  done  it, 
sae  ye  needna  be  blamin'  yersel'  aboot 
wee  Jeannie." 

"Dae  ye  think  it  wisna  the  kipper?" 
said  John,  eagerly. 

"Maybe  it  wisna.  Onywey,  I  ken 
whit  to  dae;  sae  aff  ye  gang  wi'  Mac- 
greegor. .  .  .  Macgreegor,  ha'e  ye  wash- 
ed yer  face?" 

"Ay,  maw." 

"Weel,  bring  ower  the  brush  till  I 
pit  yer  hair  stracht.  .  .  .  Staun'  quate 
noo!  Tits,  laddie!  hoo  can  I  mak'  a 
shed  when  ye 're  wagglin'  yer  heid?  .  .  . 
There,  noo!  .  .  .  Let  me  see  yer  haun's. 
Did  ye  wash  them?" 

"Ay,  maw." 

"  Awa'  an'  wash  them  again.  An'  tie 
yer  lace.  .  .  .  Here,  John,  keep  yer  e'e 
on  wee  Jeannie  till  I  get  Macgreegor's 
new  hat."  Lizzie  dived  under  the  bed, 
opened  a  box,  and  brought  out  a  parcel. 

"Whit  kin'  o'  bunnet's  that?"  in- 
quired her  husband. 

"Wait  an'  ye'll  see,"  returned  Lizzie, 
smiling  as  she  undid  the  paper.  "The 
man  said  it  wis  an  Alpine  hat,  an'  vera 


Wee    Macgreegor 

genteel.  Macgreegor 's  needin'  a  new  hat. 
His  glengarry's  gettin'  kin'  o'  shabby 
fur  the  Sawbath,  sae  he'll  wear  it  every 
day  an'  ha'e  this  yin  fur  his  guid  yin. 
See?  There's  the  hat,  John.  It '11  be  a 
fine  surprise  fur  Macgreegor.  .  .  .  Here, 
Macgreegor,  come  an'  see  yer  new  hat." 

"It's  a  queer  kin'  o'  hat  fur  a  wean," 
remarked  John.  "It's  liker  a  man's. 
Dod,  it's  jist  like  auld  Mackinky's — him 
that  used  to  write  til  the  newspapers 
efter  he  gaed  daft.  A  Macalpine  hat, 
did  ye  say?  Macgreegor,  let's  see  ye 
in  yer  Macalpine  hat!" 

But  Macgregor,  who  had  been  gazing 
dumbly  at  the  headgear  for  fully  half  a 
minute,  suddenly  exclaimed,  "I'll  no' 
wear  that  thing." 

"Noo  ye've  done  it!"  said  Lizzie,  in  a 
sharp  undertone  to  her  husband.  "Ye've 
pit  the  wean  aff  it  wi'  yer  stupid  talk. 
.  .  .  Macgreegor,  ma  mannie,"  she  said 
to  the  boy,  "yer  paw  wis  jist  jokin'. 
See,  pit  on  yer  braw  new  hat,  an'  then 
ye'll  gang  to  the  baun'." 

"I'll  no'  wear  it,"  said  her  son,  re- 
treating a  step.  "I  want  ma  green^ 
garry  bunnet." 

106 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ah,  but  this  yin's  faur  nicer  nor  yer 
glengarry.  ...  Is 't  no'?"  she  demand- 
ed of  John,  giving  him  a  warning  glance. 

"Aw,  it's  a  vera  nice  hat,"  he  re- 
plied, evasively.  Then,  feeling  that  he 
was  failing  in  his  duty,  he  gently  recom- 
mended his  son  to  submit.  ' '  Come  awa', 
Macgreegor,  an'  dae  whit  yer  maw  bids 
ye." 

"I'll  no'  wear  it,"  said  Macgregor, 
stolidly. 

"Ye'll  no',  wull  ye  no'?"  exclaimed 
Lizzie.  "If  ye'll  no',  ye'll  jist!"  And, 
taking  the  boy  by  the  arm,  she  gently 
but  firmly  placed  the  hat  upon  his  head. 

At  this  indignity  tears  sprang  to  his 
eyes;  but  he  cuffed  them  away,  and 
stood  before  his  parents  an  exceedingly 
sulky  little  figure. 

"It's  the  brawest  hat  he  ever  had," 
said  Lizzie,  regarding  her  purchase  with 
intense  satisfaction.  "Is  't  no',  John?" 

"Ay;  it's  a  vera  braw  hat,"  replied 
John,  with  feeble  enthusiasm.  "Dae 
ye  think  it  fits  him,  though  ?"  he  inquired. 

"Fits  him?     Deed,  ay!     It's  like  as 
if  his  heid  had  been  made  fur  't !  .  .  .  Is 
it  no'  rale  comfortable,  Macgreegor?" 
107 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  I  dinna  like  it,"  replied  the  boy.  "  I 
like  ma  greengany." 

"Och,  ye'll  shin  get  to  like  it,  dearie. 
Ye  micht  gang  to  see  the  king  wi'  a  hat 
like  that  on  yer  heid.  .  .  .  Noo,  awa'  wi' 
yer  paw  to  the  baun',  an'  be  a  guid  lad- 
die, an'  ye'll  get  somethin'  nice  to  yer 
tea." 

"Come  on,  Macgreegor,"  said  John, 
holding  out  his  hand.  "You  an'  me  '11 
ha'e  a  hurl  on  the  caur,  an'  maybe  ye'll 
fin'  oot  whit  I've  got  in  ma  pooch." 

Lizzie  nodded  pleasantly  as  they  de- 
parted, and  John  looked  back  and 
smiled,  while  Macgregor,  though  sub- 
dued, was  apparently  becoming  recon- 
ciled to  his  novel  headgear.  During 
the  car  journey  the  twain  were  perhaps 
quieter  than  usual,  but  by  the  time  they 
reached  the  park,  where  the  band  was 
playing,  John  had  ceased  casting  covert 
glances  at  his  boy's  head,  and  Macgregor, 
with  a  portion  of  "taiblet"  in  each 
cheek,  was  himself  again. 

Macgregor  greatly  enjoyed  the  loud 

and  lively  passages  in  the  music,  but 

he  was  inclined  to  be  rather  impatient 

while  the  conductor  waved  his  baton 

108 


Wee    Macgreegor 

slowly  and  the  instruments  played  softly 
or  were  partly  silent. 

"Paw,  whit  wey  is  thon  man  no' 
blawin'  his  trumpet?"  he  inquired,  dur- 
ing a  lull  among  the  brasses. 

"I  cudna  say,  Macgreegor." 

"If  I  had  a  trumpet  I  wud  aye  blaw 
it.  I  wud  blaw  it  hard,  tae!" 

John  was  about  to  assure  his  son  that 
he  fully  believed  him,  when  he  heard 
some  one  behind  say: 

"Jist  luk  at  that,  Mrs.  Forgie!  Is 
that  no'  an  awful  daft-like  hat  to  pit  on 
a  laddie?" 

"It  is  that,  Mrs.  Bawr.  I  wudna  let 
a  laddie  o'  mine's  gang  oot  in  a  thing  like 
that  fur  a'  the  gold  o'  Crusoes." 

John's  ears  tingled,  and  he  nearly  bit 
the  end  off  his  pipe.  "Macgreegor,  I 
think  we'll  gang  roon  and  see  the  drum- 
mer," he  said. 

"Naw,  I  want  to  see  thon  man  blaw 
his  trumpet,"  said  Macgregor,  who, 
fortunately,  had  not  heard  his  critics. 

"Some  folk,"  observed  Mrs.  Bawr, 
"is  gey  fond  o'  tryin'  to  be  gentry." 

"Ye 're  richt  there,"  assented  Mrs. 
Forgie,  with  a  sniff.  "I'm  aye  sorry 
109 


Wee    Macgreegor 

fur  weans  that  gets  drest  up  like  waux- 
works,  jist  fur  to  please  their  sully 
faythers  an'  mithers." 

"Macgreegor,"  said  John,  "I'm  no' 
gaun  to  wait  fur  the  man  to  blaw  his 
trumpet.  I  doot  he  jist  cairries  it  fur 
show.  Come  awa'  wi'  me."  And, 
much  to  his  surprise,  the  youngster  was 
dragged  away. 

From  that  moment  John's  pleasure 
was  at  an  end.  Every  smile  he  ob- 
served, every  laugh  he  heard,  seemed  to 
have  a  personal  application.  Before 
the  band  performance  was  finished  he 
and  his  son  were  on  their  way  home, 
himself  in  mortal  terror  lest  the  boy 
should  suffer  insult.  His  worst  fears 
were  soon  realized. 

On  the  roof  of  the  car  Macgregor  was 
chattering  gayly  when  an  intoxicated 
party  inquired,  with  a  leer,  if  he  were 
aware  that  his  hat  was  bashed.  Mac- 
gregor shrunk  close  to  his  father,  whose 
wrath  all  but  boiled  over,  and  was  very 
subdued  for  the  rest  of  the  journey. 

As  they  walked  along  the  street  they 
were  met  by  two  small  boys,  who 
grinned  at  their  approach,  and  laughed 
no 


Wee    Macgreegor 

loudly  behind  their  backs.  John  gripped 
the  little  fingers  a  thought  closer,  but 
held  his  peace. 

Presently  a  juvenile  voice  behind 
them  yelled,  "Wha  dee'd  an'  left  ye 
the  bunnet?"  And  another  exclaimed, 
"Gentry  pup!" 

"  Never  heed,  Macgreegor,"  whispered 
John. 

"I — I'm  no'  heedin',  paw,"  said  the 
boy,  tremulously. 

Three  little  girls  passed  them,  and 
broke  into  a  combined  fit  of  giggling. 
One  cried  "Granpaw!"  after  them,  and 
the  trio  ran  up  a  close. 

But  they  were  nearly  home  now,  and 
surely  the  torment  was  at  an  end.  But 
no !  At  the  corner  of  the  street  appeared 
Willie  Thomson  and  several  other  of 
Macgregor's  playmates.  They  did  not 
mean  to  be  unkind,  but  at  the  sight  of 
their  little  friend  they  stared  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  fled  sniggering.  And 
from  a  window  above  came  a  jeering 
hail,  "  Haw,  you  wi'  the  fancy  hat!"  fol- 
lowed by  the  impertinent  exhortation, 
"Come  oot  the  bunnet  an'  let's  see  yer 
feet."  Finally,  as  they  hurried  into  the 
in 


Wee    Macgreegor 

familiar  entry,  a  shout  came  after  them, 
in  which  the  word  "gentry"  was  cruelly 
distinct.  Climbing  the  stairs,  John 
wiped  the  perspiration  of  shame  and 
wrath  from  his  forehead,  while  his  son 
emitted  strange,  half-choked  sounds. 

"Never  heed,  Macgreegor,  never 
heed,"  whispered  John,  patting  the 
heaving  shoulders.  "Ye '11  no'  wear  it 
again,  if  I've  to  buy  ye  a  dizzen  bun- 
nets." 

They  entered  the  house. 

"Ye 're  early  back,"  said  Lizzie,  cheer- 
fully. 

"Ay,  we're  early  back,"  said  her  hus- 
band, in  a  voice  she  was  not  familiar 
with. 

"  Mercy  me!  Whit's  a-do?"  she  cried. 
"Whit  ails  ye,  Macgreegor?" 

For  a  moment  there  was  dead  silence. 
Then  Macgregor  dashed  his  new  hat  on 
the  floor.  "I'll  no'  wear  it!  I'll  no' 
wear  it!  I  winna  be  gentry!  I  winna 
be  gentry!"  he  moaned,  and  rushed 
from  the  house,  sobbing  as  if  his  heart 
would  break. 

"De'il  tak'  the  hat!"  said  John,  and, 
lifting  his  foot,  he  kicked  it  across  the 
112 


Wee    Macgreegor 

kitchen,  over  the  jaw-box,  and  out  at 
the  open  window. 

Lizzie  stared  at  her  husband  in  con- 
sternation, and  wee  Jeannie,  not  know- 
ing what  else  to  do,  started  screaming 
at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

"Ha'e  ye  gaed  daft,  John?"  gasped 
Lizzie,  at  last. 

"Gey  near  it,"  he  replied.  "See, 
Lizzie,"  he  continued,  "that  hat's  to  be 
left  in  the  street,  an'  yer  no'  to  say  a 
word  aboot  it  to  Macgreegor.  Listen!" 
And  he  proceeded  to  supply  her  with 
details. 

"But  it's  a  bewtiful  hat,  an'  that 
genteel,  an'  I  peyed — "  she  began  ere 
he  had  finished. 

"I'm  no'  carin'  whit  ye  peyed  fur  't. 
I'd  shinner  loss  a  week's  pey  nor  see 
Macgreegor  in  anither  Macalpine  hat, 
or  whitever  ye  ca'  it.  ...  Aw,  Lizzie, 
if  ye  had  jist  seed  the  wey  the  puir 
laddie  tried  fur  to  keep  frae  greetin' 
when  they  wis  makin'  a  mock  o'  him, 
ye  wud — " 

"Here,  John,  haud  wee  Jeannie,"  said 
Lizzie,  abruptly.  "I  maun  see  whit's 
come  ower  him.  .  .  .  Dinna  greet, 
113 


Wee    Macgreegor 

duckie.     See  if  ye  can  keep  her  quate, 
John." 

Lizzie  was  absent  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  returned  looking  miserable.  "I 
canna  see  him,  John.  Ye  micht  gang 
doon  yersel'.  He's  maybe  hidin'  frae 
me,"  she  said,  with  a  sigh. 

"Nae  fear  o'  that,  dearie.  But  he 
disna  like  folk  to  see  him  greetin'. 
That's  why  I  didna  rin  efter  him  at 
first.  But  I'll  awa'  an'  see  if  I  can  get 
him  noo.  An' — an',  Lizzie,  ye'll  no' 
say  onythin'  aboot  the  hat?  I'll  bring 
it  up,  if  ye  want  to  keep  it." 

"Na.  I'll  no'  say  onythin',  but  it's  a 
rale  braw  hat,  an'  that  genteel,  an'  I 
doot  somebody's  rin  aff  wi'  't." 

Just  then  Macgregor  walked  in,  look- 
ing rather  ashamed  of  himself,  and  with 
the  tears  scarcely  dry.  Yet,  at  the 
tenderly  solicitous  expressions  of  his 
parents,  he  smiled  as  if  he  had  been 
waiting  permission  to  do  so. 

"Paw,  there's  a — " 

"Gi'e  yer  maw  a  kiss,"  said  John. 

"Ye're  an  awfu'  laddie,"  murmured 
Lizzie,  cuddling  him. 

"Paw,  there's  a  wee — " 
114 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Wud  ye  like  a  curran'-cake  to  yer 
tea,  Macgreegor?"  inquired  Lizzie,  as 
she  released  him. 

"Ay,  maw,"  he  answered,  beaming. 
Then:  "Paw,  there's  a  wee  dug  ootbye, 
an'  it's  worryin'  ma  hat,  an'  it's  pu'ia' 
it  a'  to  bits!" 


XI 


I  get  oarin',  paw?"  said  Mac- 
gregor  from  the  stern,  where  he 
was  sitting  beside  his  mother  and  little 
sister. 

"  Dod,  ay;  ye'll  get  oarin',"  replied  his 
father,  who  was  rowing  leisurely  and  en- 
joying his  pipe. 

"Na;  ye  canna  get  oarin',"  exclaimed 
Lizzie. 

"Whit  wey,  maw?" 

"Jist  because  ye  canna.  Keep  yer 
sate,  noo,  or  ye'll  ha'e  the  boat  cou- 
pit." 

"Aw,  the  wean's  fine,"  said  John. 
"If  he  wants  to  get  oarin',  let  him — " 

"Macgreegor  maun  bide  whaur  he 
is,"  returned  Lizzie.  "Near  a'  the 
accidents  i'  the  papers  comes  o'  folk 
changin'  their  sates.  An'  ye  ken  fine, 
John,  I  wudna  ha'e  come  wi'  ye  the 
day  if  ye  hadna  tell  't  me  there  wud  be 
nae  cairry-ons  in  the  boat." 
116 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Och,  ye're  awfu'  easy  frichtit,"  re- 
marked her  husband,  good-humoredly. 

"Ay;  I'm  easy  frichtit.  Whit  wud 
I  dae  wi'  wee  Jeannie  if  the  boat  wis 
capsizin'?  I'm  fur  nae  wattery  graves, 
thenk  ye,  John!" 

"Havers,  wumman!  Come  on,  Mac- 
greegor, an'  I'll  learn  ye  to — " 

"Dinna  stir  a  fit,  Macgreegor,  or 
I'll—" 

"I  want  to  get  oarin',  maw." 

"Weel,  I'm  tellin'  ye  ye  canna  get 
oarin';  an'  that's  jist  a'  aboot  it!  Luk 
at  wee  Jeannie,  noo,  an'  her  that  nice 
an'  quate.  She's  no'  wantin'  to  get 
oarin'  an'  ha'e  us  a'  droondit — are  ye, 
ma  doo?" 

Wee  Jeannie  continued  to  apply  her- 
self to  a  stick  of  barley-sugar,  and  said 
nothing. 

"  She's  ower  wee  fur  to  oar,"  said  Mac- 
gregor,  scornfully.  "Whit  wey  can  I 
no'  get  oarin',  maw?" 

"  Michty  me!  Can  ye  no'  tak'  a  tellin', 
laddie?  See  the  yatts  thonder!  See 
thon  big  yin  wi'  the  yella  lum!" 

"It's  no'  a  lum;  it's  a  funnel,"  re- 
turned Macgregor,  coldly. 

9  H7 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Aweel,  it's  a'  yin,"  said  his  mother, 
agreeably.  "See  thon  steamboat  corn- 
in'  to  the  pier!  Whit  a  reek.  It's  got 
y ella  lums — funnels — tae . ' ' 

"I  like  rid  funnels  better  nor  yella 
yins.  Can  I  get  oarin'  noo,  maw?" 

"Tits,  Macgreegor!  I  wunner  at  ye 
gaun  on  aboot  oarin'  when  I've  tell 't 
ye  ye  canna.  A  fine  job  it  wud  be  if 
ye  coupit  the  boat  an'  a  whale  got  the 
haud  o'  ye!" 

"There's  nae  whales  at  Rothesay." 

"Is  there  no'?" 

"Granpaw  said  there  was  nane;  an* 
he  kens." 

John  chuckled.  "He  had  ye  there, 
Lizzie,"  he  said.  "Ye  canna  doot  yer 
ain  feyther's  word." 

"Aweel,"  said  Lizzie,  "there  may  be 
nae  whales  as  a  rule,  but  nae  man  kens 
whit's  in  the  sea,  as  Solyman  says." 

"Whales  is  feart  fur  folk,"  observed 
her  son. 

"The  whale  wisna  feart  fur  puir  Jo- 
nah, Macgreegor." 

"If  I  had  been  Jonah — " 

"Ye  wud  jist  ha'e  been  ett  up  fut 
forty  days  and  forty  nichts." 
118 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"I  wudna!" 

"Ah,  but  ye  wud!  An'  it  wudna  be 
vera  nice  in  the  whale's  inside." 

"I  wud  ha'e  jaggit  it  wi'  knifes  an' 
preens  till  it  let  me  oot,"  said  the 
valiant  Macgregor. 

John  laughed  loudly,  and  Lizzie  said, 
reprovingly:  "Ye  sudna  laugh  when 
Macgreegor  says  sic  daft-like  things. 
Ye  jist  encourage  him  wi'  his  blethers 
an'  boastin'.  .  .  .  Macgreegor,  I  tell  ye, 
if  ye  wis  in  the  whale's  inside  ye  wud 
jist  be  roarin'  an'  greetin'  fur  yer  maw." 

"  I  wudna!" 

"Ay,  wud  ye!  Sae  ye  needna  be 
boastin'  aboot  knifes  an'  preens." 

"Wis  Jonah  roarin'  an'  greetin'  fur 
his  maw,  maw?" 

"Ach,  haud  yer  tongue!  See  thon 
wee  boat  wi'  the  sail." 

"Whit  wey  has  this  boat  no'  got  a 
sail,  maw?" 

"It's  got  nae  mast,  ye  see,  Macgreeg- 
or," said  his  father. 

"Whit  wey  has  it  no'  got  a  mast, 
paw?" 

"  Weel,  ma  mannie,  it's  jist  a  boat  fur 
oarin',"  said  John. 

119 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Can  I  get  oarin'  noo?"  asked  Mac- 
gregor. 

"I'm  shair  I've  tell 't  ye  a  dizzen 
times  ye  canna,"  cried  his  mother,  who 
was  engaged  in  fixing  a  fresh  bit  of 
paper  to  one  end  of  wee  Jeannie's  barley- 
sugar. 

"When  '11  I  get  oarin'?" 

"No'  the  noo,  onywey." 

"Wull  I  get  oarin'  in  a  wee  while, 
maw?" 

"Ye'll  no'  get  oarin'  the  day,  sae  ye 
needna  be — " 

"Wull  I  get  oarin'  the  morn,  maw?" 

"  Oh,  my!  Wis  there  ever  sic  a  wean! 
Deed,  Macgreegor,  ye  wad  spile  the 
patients  o'  Job!  Whit  are  ye  wantin' 
to  oar  fur?" 

"I  jist  want  to  oar." 

"Let  him  oar,  Lizzie,"  said  John, 
mildly. 

"Na,  I'll  no'  let  him  oar!  An'  I 
think  ye  micht  ha'e  mair  sense  nor  to 
say  'let  him  oar'  when  I've  tell 't  him 
fifty  times  he  canna  get  oarin'." 

"But  the  wean's  that  disappintit," 
urged  her  husband. 

"Better  disappintit  nor  droondit," 
120 


Wee    Macgreegor 

quoth  Lizzie,  shortly.  "Whaur  are  ye 
gaun  noo,  John?"  she  suddenly  inquired. 

"  Oot  to  get  thon  steamboat's  waves," 
he  returned,  laying  down  his  pipe  and 
bending  to  the  oars. 

"Whit's  that  ye  say?" 

"I'm  gaun  to  tak'  ye  oot  to  get  a 
wee  shoogy-shoo  wi'  thon  steamboat's 
waves." 

"I'm  fur  nane  o'  yer  shoogy-shoos, 
John." 

"Whit  fur  no'?  Macgreegor  likes  a 
shoogy-shoo.  Eh,  Macgreegor?" 

"Ay,  paw,"  replied  Macgregor,  roused 
from  apparently  gloomy  reflections.  "  I 
like  when  the  boat's  whumlin'  aboot." 

"I'll  whumle  ye!"  cried  his  mother. 
"Noo,  John,  ye're  no'  to  dae  't.  We'll 
get  sookit  into  the  paiddles,  as  shair  's 
daith!" 

"Nae  fears,  wumman." 

"Ah,  but  there  is  fears!  I'm  no' 
wantin'  to  get  ma  heid  an'  ma  airms  an' 
ma  legs  ca'ed  aff,  an'  droondit  furbye!" 

" Wud  the  paiddles  ca'  wur  heids  aff?" 
inquired  Macgregor,  with  interest. 

"They  wud  that,"  said  Lizzie,  relieved 
to  see  her  husband  altering  his  course. 

121 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"An*  wud  wur  heids  gang  intil  the 
ingynes?"  pursued  the  youngster. 

"Oh,  haud  yer  tongue,  Macgreegor!" 
cried  his  horrified  mother.  "Whit  a  no* 
tion  fur  a  wean!"  she  observed  to  John. 

"Paw,  wud  wur  heid's  gang — " 

"Whisht,  laddie!"  said  his  father. 
"Yer  maw  disna  like  it." 

"Whit  wey?" 

Getting  no  answer,  he  relapsed  into  a 
thoughtful  silence,  which  lasted  for 
about  three  minutes. 

"Can  I  no'  get  oarin'  noo?"  he  in- 
quired. 

"Here's  a  boat  wi'  a  rid  funnel  com- 
in',"  said  John. 

"Can  I  no'  get — " 

"Dod,  there's  an'  awfu'  crood  on 
board  her.  D'  ye  see  the  folk,  Macgreeg- 
or?" 

"Ay.     But  can  I  no'—" 

"Ha'e,  Macgreegor,"  said  Lizzie,  who 
had  been  fumbling  in  her  pocket, 
"there's  a  lozenger  fur  ye." 

"Thenk  ye,  maw,"  he  returned,  and 
remained  quiet  for  a  little. 

Then,  "Ma  fit's  sleepin'!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "I  want  to  dance." 

122 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ye  canna  dance  here,"  said  his 
mother.  "  Rub  yer  leg  an'  dunt  yer  fit 
on  the  floor.  But  dinna  get  aff  yer 
sate." 

Macgregor  rubbed  and  dunted  for 
some  time,  but  without  obtaining  relief. 
"It's  fu'  o'  preens  an'  needles,  an'  it's 
gettin'  waur,"  he  complained. 

"Weel,  ye  maun  jist  thole  it,  fur  ye 
canna  get  up  an'  dance  in  the  boat," 
said  Lizzie,  not  unsympathetically. 
"Try  wagglin'  yer  leg,  dearie." 

Macgregor  waggled  violently,  but  to 
little  purpose.  His  countenance  ex- 
pressed extreme  discomfort.  "  It's  awfu' 
jaggy,"  he  said  several  times. 

"Puir  laddie,"  said  his  father.  "It's 
a  nesty  thing  a  sleepin'-fit.  Is  't  no', 
Lizzie?" 

"Ay,  I  mind  I  yinst  had  it  in  the  kirk, 
an'  I  wis  near  dementit.  Is  't  no'  gettin' 
better,  Macgreegor?" 

"Naw,  it's  gettin'  waur,  maw." 

The  parents  became  quite  concerned 
about  the  sufferer. 

"  I  doot  ye'll  ha'e  to  gang  to  the  shore, 
John,"  said  Lizzie,  "an1  let  him  get 
streetchin'  hissel'!" 

123 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ay,  he's  got  crampit  wi'  sittin'  there 
sae  lang.  Weans  isna  used  to  sittin' 
quate.  Is  't  rale  bad,  ma  mannie?" 

"A'  ma  leg's  jaggy  noo,"  replied  the 
boy. 

"Lizzie,"  said  John,  suddenly,  "if 
the  wean  wis  gettin'  oarin'  fur  a  wee, 
dae  ye  no'  think — ' 

"Na,  na.  I  canna  thole  folk  galli- 
vantin'  aboot  in  boats.  Mercy  me! 
there's  folk  droondit  every  day  jist  wi' 
changin'  their  sates." 

"  I  cud  creep  to  the  ither  sate,  maw," 
said  Macgregor,  who  had  suddenly  ceas- 
ed rubbing,  dunting,  and  waggling. 

"An*  he's  ower  wee,  furbye,"  object- 
ed Lizzie. 

"I'm  no',  maw.  Wullie  Thomson's 
wee'er  nor  me,  an'  he  aye  gets  oarin'." 

"Is  yer  fit  better?"  asked  Lizzie. 

"Naw,"  said  her  son,  hastily  resum- 
ing operations.  "  Wullie  Thomson's  maw 
lets  him  oar,"  he  added. 

"I  suppose  ye  wud  shinner  ha'e 
Wullie's  maw  nor  yer  am,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  her  husband. 

Apparently  Macgregor  did  not  hear. 

"D"  ye  hear  whit  yer  maw's  sayin', 
124 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Macgreegor?"  said  John.  "She's  speir- 
in'  if  ye  wud  like  Mrs.  Thomson  fur  yer 
maw  instead  o'  hersel'." 

"Nae  fears,"  said  Macgregor,  prompt- 
ly. "I  like  ma  ain  maw  best." 

"Ye're  an  awfu'  laddie,"  sighed  Liz- 
zie. "Wull  ye  be  rale  canny  if  I  let  ye 
get  oarin'?" 


XII 

OLD  Mr.  Purdie  placed  his  closed 
hands  behind  his  back,  and,  with  a 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  delivered  himself  of 
the  ancient  rhyme — 

"  Neevy,  neevy,  nick  nack, 
Which  haun'  will  you  tak'? 
Tak'  the  richt,  or  tak'  the  wrang, 
An*  I'll  beguile  ye  if  I  can!" 

"I'll  tak'  the  richt,  granpaw,"  said 
Macgregor. 

Mr.  Purdie  extended  the  member 
mentioned,  disclosing  a  slab  of  toffee 
done  up  in  transparent  paper.  "Ye're 
a  rale  smairt  laddie,"  he  observed,  with 
a  chuckle.  "Ye  aye  guess  whaur  the 
gundy  is." 

"Ay,  I'm  gey  fly,"  returned  Mac- 
gregor, modestly,  beginning  an  onslaught 
on  the  sweet. 

Mr.  Purdie  chuckled  again,  and  slip- 
ped the  packet  of  toffee  which  had 
126 


Wee    Macgreegor 

been  concealed  in  his  left  hand  into  his 
pocket. 

"I'm  aye  richt,  am  I  no'?"  inquired 
his  grandson. 

"Ay,  are  ye,  Macgreegor!  It  bates 
me  to  think  hoo  ye  ken." 

"Aw,  I  jist  ken.  .  .  .  It's  awfu'  guid!" 

"Is  it?" 

"Ay.     I'll  gi'e  ye  a  taste." 

"Na,  na,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  looking 
pleased.  "I'll  jist  ha'e  a  bit  smoke  to 
masel'.  Ye're  no'  to  tell  yer  maw  I 
wis  gi'ein'  ye  gundy,  though;  an'  yer 
no'  to  let  it  spile  yer  tea." 

"I'll  never  let  bug,  granpaw,"  said 
Macgregor,  as  if  to  set  his  relative's 
guilty  conscience  at  rest. 

The  twain  had  come  down  to  the 
shore  at  low  water,  and  Mr.  Purdie  was 
resting  on  a  rock,  while  Macgregor  hunt- 
ed among  the  stones  and  sea-weed  for 
small  crabs,  several  of  which  he  had 
secured  already  and  confined  in  an  old 
battered  meat  tin. 

"Noo,  dinna  get  yer  feet  wat,  laddie," 
said  Mr.  Purdie  when  he  had  got-  his 
f'pe,  a  highly  seasoned  clay,  well  alight. 

"Nae  fears,  granpaw,"  returned  the 
127 


Wee    Macgreegor 

boy,  reassuringly.  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
his  feet  at  the  very  moment  were 
squelching  in  his  boots.  "  Here's  an- 
ither!"  he  exclaimed,  holding  up  a  tiny 
crab.  "It's  awfu'  kitly,"  he  added,  as 
he  allowed  it  to  run  on  the  palm  of  his 
hand.  "It's  ower  wee  fur  to  nip.  Wud 
ye  like  to  fin'  it  in  yer  haun',  granpaw?" 

"Deed,  ay,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  with 
the  desire  to  please  his  grandson.  "  Ay, 
it's  gey  an'  kitly.  An'  whit  are  ye 
gaun  to  dae  wi'  a'  thae  partins?"  he  in- 
quired, indicating  the  meat  tin. 

"I'm  gaun  to  tak'  them  hame." 

"No"  to  Glesca?" 

"Ay,  to  Glesca!" 

"Aw,  but  they'll  jist  dee,  Macgreeg- 
or." 

"Whit  wey?" 

"Partins  winna  leeve  in  Glesca." 

"Whit  wey  wull  they  no'?" 

"They  need  saut  watter." 

"I'll  tak'  saut  watter  hame,  tae.  I'll 
tak'  it  in  a  botle,  granpaw." 

Mr.  Purdie  shook  his  head,  and  the 
boy  looked  disappointed. 

"Whit   wud   ye   dae   wi'   partins   in 
Glesca?"  asked  the  former. 
128 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"NaethinV 

"An'  whit  wud  ye  tak'  them  hame 
fur?" 

"  It  wisna  fur  masel'.  I'm  no'  heedin' 
aboot  partins.  I  wud  be  feart  fur  them 
growin'  big  an'  creepin'  intil  ma  bed.  It 
wis  wee  Joseph  wantit  partins." 

"Wha's  wee  Joseph?" 

"  He's  a  wee  laddie.  He's  faur  wee-er 
nor  me,  an'  he's  lyin'  badly,  an'  his 
paw's  deid,  an'  his  maw  washes." 

"Ay,  ay.  An'  sae  wee  Joseph  wantit 
ye  to  bring  him  partins?" 

"He  wantit  a  monkey  first;  he  thocht 
there  wis  monkeys  at  Rothesay,  sclim- 
min'  up  the  rocks  an'  rinnin'  aboot  the 
pier  an'  the  shore.  Wee  Joseph's  never 
seen  the  sea." 

"That's  peetifu'.  An'  ye  tell  't  him 
there  wis  nae  monkeys?" 

"Ay ;  an'  he  begood  fur  to  greet.  An' 
I  tell  't  him  aboot  the  partins,  an'  he 
said  he  wud  like  a  wheen  partins,  an' 
— an'  I  thocht  the  partins  wud  leeve  in 
Glesca,  an' — an'— I'll  jist  tim  them  oot 
an'  bash  them  wi'  a  stane." 

"Na,  na.  Ye  mauna  dae  that,  Mac- 
greegor," exclaimed  Mr.  Purdie,  hastily. 
129 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  The  puir  beasties  canna  help  no*  bein' 
able  to  leeve  in  Glesca." 

"I'll  bash  them,"  cried  Macgregor, 
violently. 

"Haud  on,  laddie,  haud  on.  If  ye 
wis  a  wee  partin,  hoo  wud  ye  like  if  a 
big  laddie  cam'  an'  bashed  ye  wi*  a 
stane?" 

"  If  I  wis  a  partin,  I  wud  leeve  in  Gles- 
ca." And  the  youngster's  eyes  moved 
in  search  of  a  suitable  stone. 

"Macgreegor,"  implored  the  old  man, 
laying  his  pipe  on  the  rock  and  rising, 
"dae  ye  think  wee  Joseph  wud  like  ye 
to  bash  the  partins?" 

"Ay,  wud  he." 

"I'm  shair  he  wudna.  The  puir  wee 
partins  never  done  onybody  hairm." 

Macgregor  picked  up  a  small  bowlder, 
remarking,  "Partins  nips  folks'  taes 
when  they're  dookin'." 

"Ay;  but  no'  wee  partins  like  thur." 

"Thae  wee  yins  '11  shin  be  big,"  said 
Macgregor,  coldly.  "I'll  bash  this  yin 
first,"  he  added,  selecting  a  poor  little 
specimen  from  the  tin  and  laying  it  on 
the  rock. 

Grandfather  Purdie  seized  the  uplift- 
130 


Wee    Macgreegor 

ed  arm.  "Macgreegor,"  he  said,  gently, 
"ye're  no'  to  dae  it." 

"Whitwey?" 

"Because,"  said  the  old  man,  search- 
ing for  an  argument  that  might  appeal 
to  the  young  savage — "because  it's  sic 
a  wee  bit  thing." 

"It's  gey  wee,"  admitted  Macgregor, 
peering  into  the  tin  while  the  victim 
slid  off  the  rock  and  escaped;  "ay,  it's 
gey  wee.  Here's  a  bigger  yin.  I'll  bash 
it." 

"Macgreegor,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  sol- 
emnly, "ye  mauna  be  crool.  Ye  wudna 
like  if  a  muckle  giant  got  a  grup  o'  yer- 
sel',  an'  wis  gaun  to  bash  ye  wi'  his  club." 

"It's  a'  lees  aboot  giants.  There's 
nae  giants." 

"Aweel,  ye're  no'  to  be  crool  ony- 
wey,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  at  a  loss.  "Let 
the  wee  partins  rin  awa',  an'  dinna  vex 
yer  granpaw.  The  wee  beasties  is  that 
happy,  ye  ken,  an'  it  wud  be  a  sin  to 
bash  them.  They're  jist  like  weans 
doon  at  the  coast  fur  the  fair,  rinnin' 
aboot  an'  enjoyin'  theirsel's,  an'  they'll 
be  awfu'  obleeged  to  ye  fur  no'  bashin' 
them." 

131 


Wee    Macgreegor 

The  old  man  had  evidently  struck 
the  right  chord  at  last,  for  Macgregor 
dropped  the  stone  and  said,  "Weel,  I'll 
no'  bash  them,  granpaw." 

"That's  a  fine  laddie." 

"An'  I'll  let  them  awa',"  he  added, 
turning  the  tin  upside  down. 

Mr.  Purdie  patted  the  boy's  cheek. 
"I  kent  ye  wudna  be  crool,"  he  said, 
tenderly.  ' '  Here  anither  bit  gundy  fur 
yer  gab." 

"Thenk  ye,  granpaw." 

"An'  yell  never  think  o'  bashin'  par- 
tins  again,  Macgreegor?" 

"Naw.  But — but  wee  Joseph  '11  be 
unco  sorry." 

"Aha!  But  we'll  ha'e  to  see  aboot 
somethin'  fur  wee  Joseph.  Whit  d'  ye 
think  he  wud  like?" 

"  Hewantit  somethin' that  wisleevin'." 

"  Leevin'  ?  Dod,  that's  no'  sae  easy," 
said  Mr.  Purdie,  resuming  his  seat  and 
pipe  and  gazing  thoughtfully  across  the 
bay.  "I  ken  a  man  here  that  keeps 
birds,"  he  remarked  at  last.  "Wud  wee 
Joseph  like  a  bird,  think  ye?" 

"Naw,"  Macgregor  firmly  and  unhes- 
itatingly replied. 

132 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"A  bird  wud  be  a  nice  pet  fur  a 
laddie  that's  lyin'  badly.  It  wud  cheep 
an'  sing  til  him,  ye  ken." 

"Birds  is  ower  easy  kill't.  Ye  canna 
play  wi'  birds  in  yer  bed." 

"Deed,  that's  true.  .  .  .  Whit  think 
ye  o'  a  wee  cat?  Mrs.  M'Conkie  the 
grocer's  got  kittens  the-  noo." 

"Joseph  had  a  wee  cat,  an'  it  scartit 
his  neb,  an'  his  maw  pit  it  oot  the  hoose. 
He  had  white  mice  anither  time,  an' 
they  had  young  yins,  but  his  maw 
wudna  let  him  keep  them  in  the  bed." 

"Weel,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  "I'm  shair 
I  dinna  ken  whit  to  say,  Macgreegor." 

"The  partins  wis  best,  if  they  wud 
ha'e  leeved.  Wee  Joseph  wis  fur  keepin' 
them  in  a  boax,  an'  him  an'  me  wis  gaun 
to  mak'  them  rin  races  on  the  blanket. 
Maybe  they  wud  catch  their  feet  in  the 
oose,  though." 

"I  doot  they  wud,  puir  beasties.  .  .  . 
But  I'm  fear't  we  canna  get  Joseph  ony- 
thin'  that's  leevin'." 

Macgregor  looked  depressed,  whereat 
his  grandfather  sighed  helplessly  and  let 
his  pipe  go  out. 

"Ye  see,  laddie,  there's  no*  mony 
10  133 


Wee    Macgreegor 

things  ye  can  gi'e  til  a  wean  that's 
lyin'  badly,"  said  the  old  man.  "Wull 
Joseph  be  better  shin?" 

"Naw.  It's  his  back  that  hurts  him. 
He's  awfu'  bad  whiles.  I  wudna  like 
to  be  him." 

"That's  maist  peetifu'.  I'll  tell  ye 
whit  we'll  dae,  Macgreegor." 

"Whit,  granpaw?" 

"We'll  ha'e  a  keek  at  the  shopes  afore 
we  gang  hame  to  wur  tea,  an'  ye'll  may- 
be see  somethin'  that  wud  please  him." 

"Wull  we  gang  noo?"  exclaimed  the 
youngster,  brightening. 

Mr.  Purdie  consulted  a  fat  silver  watch. 
"Ay,  we'll  gang  noo,  an'  see  whit  we  can 
see.  Gi'e's  yer  haun',  Macgreegor.  .  .  . 
Hech,  sirs!  but  ye're  no'  to  gar  me  rin. 
I'm  no'  as  soople  as  yersel',  ma  mannie. 
Mind  yer  feet,  or  we'll  baith  be  tum'lin' 
on  the  slippy  places." 

Without  mishap,  however,  they  came 
to  the  road,  and  soon  reached  the  town, 
Mr.  Purdie  "pechin"  and  Macgregor 
beaming  with  anticipation. 

At   a  window  which   seemed  to  be 
stocked  with  all  the  toys  and  trifles  in 
creation  they  paused  and  gazed. 
134 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ha'e,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  producing 
his  purse,  "there's  a  thrupny-bit.  Jist 
tak'  per  pick,  Macgreegor." 

"Thenk  ye,  granpaw.  Oh,  whit  '11  I 
buy?" 

"Wud  ye  no'  like  to  buy  thon  braw 
joog  wi'  the  pictur'  on  it?" 

"Naw." 

"I'm  thinkin'  it  wud  be  a  nice  kin'  o' 
thing  fur  Joseph.  Ye  see  it's  got  'A 
Present  frae  Rothesay'  on  it;  an'  he 
wud  like  gettin'  his  tea  oot  o'  it.  Eh?" 

"Naw." 

"Aweel,  ye  maun  please  yersel'. 
There's  a  pent-boax,  noo.  Wud  Joseph 
like  to  pent,  think  ye?" 

"Naw.  I  like  pentin' — I'm  gaun  to 
be  a  penter  when  I'm  a  man.  But  I'm 
gaun  to  ha'e  pots  o'  pent  an'  big  dauds 
o'  potty." 

"Weel,  maybe  wee  Joseph — " 

"Naw." 

"There's  a  pretty  pictur '-book,"  said 
Mr.  Purdie.  "Dae  ye  think — " 

"Naw." 

The  old  man  gave  up. 

"I'll  buy  thon  trumpet,"  cried  the 
boy  at  last. 

135 


Wee    Macgreegor 

I  doot,  when  wee  Joseph's  lyin* 
badly,  he'll  no'  be  vera  fit  to  blaw  a 
trumpet." 

"I  cud  blaw  it  fur  him,  granpaw. 
I  can  blaw  rale  hard." 

"Ay,  but  I'm  feart  wee  Joseph 
michtna  like  that." 

"Whit  wey?" 

Mr.  Purdie  was  about  to  attempt  ex- 
plaining, when  suddenly  Macgregor  gave 
vent  to  a  cry  of  delight.  "See  —  oh, 
see!  there's  a  monkey  hingin'  in  the 
corner!" 

"Haste  ye  an'  buy  it,"  said  his 
grandfather,  laughing. 

Macgregor  required  no  second  bid- 
ding, and  a  couple  of  minutes  later  he 
was  exhibiting  his  purchase.  It  was 
an  earthenware  monkey  that  bounded 
merrily  at  the  end  of  a  piece  of  elastic. 
"It's  gey  near  leevin',  is 't  no'?"  he 
demanded.  "See  it  loupin'!"  And  he 
continued  to  play  with  it  until  they 
were  nearly  home. 

"Wee  Joseph  '11  be  unco  gled  to  see 
it.  It  '11  gar  him  lauch,  puir  laddie," 
said  Mr.  Purdie. 

"Ay,"  assented  Macgregor,  without 
136 


Wee    Macgreegor 

much  animation.  For  the  moment  he 
had  somehow  forgotten  all  about  wee 
Joseph.  He  wound  the  elastic  care- 
fully about  the  monkey's  neck,  and 
walked  on  in  silence. 

"Ye'll  like  gi'ein'  it  to  the  puir  lad- 
die," said  Mr.  Purdie,  glancing  down. 

"Ay,"  answered  Macgregor  in  a  husky 
whisper. 


XIII 

THE  Robinson  family  were  spending 
the  week  end  at  old  Mr.  Purdie's 
Rothesay  residence,  but,  much  to  their 
disappointment,  the  weather  had  com- 
pletely broken  down  an  hour  after  their 
arrival.  Macgregor  stood  at  the  win- 
dow, gazing  disconsolately  at  the  misty 
bay,  while  his  elders — wee  Jeannie  hav- 
ing been  put  to  bed — talked  of  matters 
which  seemed  to  him  totally  void  of  in- 
terest. 

"Can  I  get  gaun  ootbye  noo?"  he 
inquired  at  last  of  his  mother,  who  was 
busily  knitting  and  talking  to  Grandma 
Purdie. 

Lizzie  glanced  at  the  window.  "  Deed, 
Macgreegor,  ye  needna  be  speirin'  aboot 
gaun  oot  the  nicht." 

"It's  no'  sae  wat  noo,  maw." 

"I'm  thinkin'  it  cudna  be  muckle 
waur,  dearie.  Ye  wud  be  fair  drookit 
in  hauf  a  meenit.  Jist  content  yersel' 
138 


"Wee    Macgreegor 

in  the  hoose,  an'  ye'll  maybe  get  a  fine 
day  the  morn." 

"I  want  to  gang  to  the  pier  an'  see 
the  steamboats  comin'  in,  maw." 

"Aweel,  I'm  rale  vexed  fur  ye,  but 
ye're  no'  gaun  ower  the  door  the  nicht. 
Whaur's  yer  graun'  pictur'-book?" 

"I  seen  a'  the  picturs." 

"Puir  laddie,"  said  Grandma  Purdie, 
"it's  no'  vera  cheery  fur  him  sittin'  in 
the  hoose  a'  nicht.  John,  can  ye  no* 
divert  the  wean  a  wee?  Gi'e  him  a  bit 
ride  on  yer  fit,  man." 

"Come  on,  Macgreegor!"  his  father 
cried,  willingly.  "Come  awa'  and  ha'e 
a  ride  on  ma  fit." 

"Ach,  he's  ower  big  fur  that  kin'  o' 
gemm,"  said  Grandpa  Purdie,  noticing 
that  Macgregor  did  not  appear  to  ap- 
preciate the  invitation.  "Are  ye  no', 
ma  mannie?" 

"Ay,"  muttered  Macgregor. 

"Wud  ye  like  to  build  hooses  wi'  the 
dominoes?"  inquired  the  old  gentleman. 

Macgregor  shook  his  head. 

"Weel,  wud  ye  like  to  build  castels 
wi'  the  draughts?" 

Macgregor  shook  his  head  again,  and 
139 


Wee    Macgreegor 

looked  gloomier  and  more  ill-used  than 
ever. 

"I  ken  whit  Macgreegor  wud  like," 
put  in  John.  "Him  an'  me  kens  a  fine 
gemm.  I'll  be  a  draygon,  an'  hide  in  ma 
den  ablow  the  table,  and  Macgreegor  '11 
hunt  me.  I'll  mak'  him  a  spear  oot  o' 
ma  Evenin'  Times,  an'  he'll  stab  me  till 
I'm  deid.  Eh,  Macgreegor?" 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Purdie. 

"Preserve  us  a'!"  cried  Mrs.  Purdie. 

"  Oh,  John  and  Macgreegor  whiles  ha'e 
fine  gemms  at  the  draygon,"  said  Lizzie, 
pleasantly.  "But  it's  unco  sair  on 
John's  breeks;  an'  he's  got  on  his  guid 
claes  the  nicht.  .  .  .  Pu'  them  up  a  wee, 
John,  sae  as  no'  to  spile  the  knees." 

"A'  richt,  wumman,"  replied  John, 
as  he  rolled  his  newspaper  into  a  harm- 
less weapon.  Presently  he  handed  it 
to  his  son,  and  disappeared  under  the 
table,  where  he  covered  his  head  with  a 
red  woollen  tidy. 

"Come  on,  Macgreegor;  I'm  ready  fur 
ye  noo!"  he  shouted,  and  immediately 
proceeded  to  emit  fearsome  noises. 

"It  bates  a'!"  Grandma  Purdie  cried, 
quite  excitedly.     "Whit  a  gemm!" 
140 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"John,"  said  Lizzie,  "did  ye  pu'  up 
yer  breeks?" 

"Hoo  can  a  draygon  pu'  up  breeks?" 
returned  her  husband;  and  he  resumed 
his  growlings  and  groanings,  while  Mac- 
gregor  began  to  stalk  his  prey  with 
great  caution  and  stealth. 

"See  an'  no'  pit  oot  yer  paw's  een," 
said  old  Mrs.  Purdie,  a  trifle  nervously. 

"Gi'e  the  draygon  a  bit  jab,  an'  gar 
him  come  oot  his  den,"  said  Mr.  Purdie. 
"Dod,  if  I  wis  jist  a  wee  thing  soopler, 
Macgreegor,  I  wud  mak'  ye  anither 
draygon." 

Just  then  the  draygon  made  a  claw  at 
the  leg  of  the  hunter,  who  let  out  a 
piercing  yell  and  lunged  wildly  with  his 
spear,  without,  however,  getting  it  home. 
The  fun  became  fast  and  furious. 

"Come  oot  yer  den,  ye  auld  draygon, 
till  I  bore  a  hole  in  ye!"  yelled  the  bold 
Macgregor. 

"Gurr — gurr!"  said  the  dragon,  sud- 
denly appearing  on  the  other  side  of  the 
table. 

At  this  point  the  door  opened,  and 
Aunt  Purdie  stepped  in.  "What's  ado, 
what's  ado?"  she  inquired,  rather  sourly. 
I4.I 


Wee    Macgreegor 

John  rose  from  the  floor,  trying  to  look 
at  his  ease,  and  Macgregor,  the  spirit 
of  play  being  abruptly  chilled,  shook 
hands  dutifully  with  his  relative  and 
straightway  retired  to  the  window. 

Aunt  Purdie,  whose  husband's  grocery 
business  was  rapidly  increasing,  had 
taken  rooms  in  Rothesay,  not  far  from 
the  old  folks,  for  July  and  August.  She 
was  much  too  superior  and  proper  a  per- 
son for  the  Robinsons,  and  she  was  Mac- 
gregor's  pet  aversion.  As  Lizzie  was 
wont  to  say,  she  was  "rale  genteel,  but 
awfu'  easy  offendit." 

"  I  was  intending  to  go  to  the  pier  for 
to  meet  Robert,"  she  observed,  as  she 
sat  down,  "but  it  was  that  wet  I  jist 
came  in  to  wait." 

"Ye 're  rale  welcome,"  said  Grandma 
Purdie,  kindly.  "  Whit  boat  is  Rubbert 
comin'  wi'?" 

"  Robert  is  coming  in  the  seven  o'clock 
P.M.  train  from  Glasgow.  He  cannot 
leave  the  shope  any  earlier  the  now." 

"Weel,  he'll  no'  be  compleenin'  if 
trade's  guid,"  said  Mr.  Purdie,  brightly. 
"  He'll  ken  to  come  here  for  ye  the  nicht, 
nae  doot." 

142 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"  Yes,"  said  Aunt  Purdie.  Then  turn- 
ing to  Lizzie,  but  speaking  so  that  every 
one  in  the  room  might  hear,  she  said, 
"I've  jist  received  a  letter  from  my 
friend,  Mrs.  M'Cluny." 

"Ha'e  ye?"  returned  Lizzie,  polite- 
ly. She  knew  that  she  was  about  to 
be  treated  to  news  of  her  sister-in-law's 
grand  acquaintances,  in  whom  she  had 
not  the  slightest  interest. 

"M'Cluny!"  exclaimed  old  Mr.  Purdie. 
"Dod,  but  that's  a  queer-like  name  to 
gang  to  the  kirk  wi'!  It's  liker  Gart- 
navel." 

"It  is  very  old  Highland,"  said  Aunt 
Purdie,  with  dignity. 

"Ten  year  in  botle,"  muttered  John, 
with  a  snigger,  whereat  Mr.  Purdie 
slapped  his  knee  and  laughed  loudly. 

"Mrs.  M'Cluny,"  went  on  Aunt  Pur- 
die, "informs  me  that  Dr.  M'Cluny  has 
got  to  leave  Glasgow." 

"Wha's  he  been  killin'?"  asked  Mr. 
Purdie,  and  John  stifled  a  guffaw. 

"Haud  yer  tongue,  man,"  whispered 
old  Mrs.  Purdie,  fearing  lest  her  son's 
wife  should  take  offence,  as  she  had 
done  too  often  before. 

143 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Dr.  M'Cluny,"  the  visitor  continued, 
"has  received  an  appintment  in  Eng- 
land. It  is  a  very  good  appintment, 
but  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  what  we  are 
to  do  wanting  Mrs.  M'Cluny  when  the 
winter  season  begins." 

"  Dis  she  gi'e  awa'  coals  an'  blankets?" 
inquired  Mr.  Purdie,  with  a  serious  face. 

The  lady  glanced  at  him  sharply.  "  I 
was  referring  to  Mrs.  M'Cluny's  social 
— a — poseetion,"  she  said,  stiffly.  "  We 
shall  miss  her  greatly  at  our  parties 
and  conversonies.  She  was  that  genteel 
— I  might  even  say  autocratic.  Her 
and  me  is  great  friends,  and  we  have 
been  often  complimented  for  our  ar- 
rangements at  entertainments  when  we 
was  on  the  commytee.  Everybody  says 
Mrs.  M'Cluny  is  a  capital  organism." 

"Deed,  ye'll  jist  ha'e  to  tak'  her 
place  when  she's  awa',"  said  Mr.  Purdie, 
winking  at  John. 

"Well,  I  must  do  my  best,"  returned 
Aunt  Purdie,  modestly.  "Of  course,  it 
has  always  been  against  Mrs.  M'Cluny 
that  her  husband  kep'  a  doctor's  shope," 
she  added. 

"Bless  me,   wumman,  whit's  wrang 


Wee    Macgreegor 

wi'  that?  If  a  man's  gaun  to  tell  folk 
to  tak'  pooshun,  he  micht  as  weel  sell 
it,"  cried  the  old  man. 

"It  is  nut  conseedered  the  proper 
thing  by  the  best  people." 

"Havers'.  Ye're  ain  man  keeps  a 
shope." 

"A  grocery  establishment,"  said  Aunt 
Pur  die,  "is  a  very  different  thing  from 
a  doctor's  shope.  I've  never  heard 
tell  of  a  man  with  a  doctor's  shope 
getting  a  title  from  the  hands  of  his 
Royal  Majesty." 

Mr.  Purdie  burst  out  laughing.  "Ca" 
canny,  wumman,  ca'  canny!  I  doot 
oor  Rubbert's  no'  the  lad  to  heed  aboot 
titles.  Hoots,  toots!  .  .  .  Come  ower 
here,  Macgreegor,  an'  gi'e's  yer  crack," 
he  said,  anxious  to  get  Aunt  Purdie  off 
her  high  horse. 

Macgregor  came  over  from  the  window 
and  leaned  against  the  old  man's  knees. 
"  Dae  a  recite,  grandpaw,"  he  whispered. 

"Eh?  Recite?"  The  old  man  was 
pleased,  however.  "Weel,  I'll  gi'e  ye 
a  bit  readin',  if  ye  like,  Macgreegor," 
he  said,  putting  on  his  specs  and  tak- 
ing an  ancient  and  somewhat  battered 
145 


Wee    Macgreegor 

Bell's  Reciter  from  a  shelf  at  his  elbow. 
"Whit  '11  I  read  ye,  ma  mannie?" 

"Read  aboot  the  man  that  wis  lockit 
in  the  kist  till  he  wis  a — a — a  skeletin, 
an'  loupit  oot  on  the  ither  man." 

"'The  Uncle'?" 

"Ay.  I  like  that  yin  awfu',"  said 
Macgregor,  with  a  shudder  of  anticipa- 
tion. 

"Whit's  that?"  cried  Lizzie.  "Aw, 
yer  no'  to  read  him  that  yin,  fayther. 
He  had  an  unco  bad  nichtmare  the  last 
time." 

"  It  wisna  the  skeletin  done  it,  maw," 
appealed  the  boy.  "It  wis  the  pease- 
brose  I  had  to  ma  supper.  I  aye  dream 
when  I  get  pease-brose — an'  ile." 

"He's  sleepin'  wi'  me  the  nicht,"  put 
in  John.  "  Ye'll  no'  be  feart  wi'  me,  wull 
ye,  Macgreegor?" 

"Naw." 

After  some  discussion  Lizzie  reluc- 
tantly gave  in,  and  Mr.  Purdie  proceeded 
with  the  reading,  which,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  had  little  interest  for  Macgregor 
until  tne  final  tragedy  was  reached. 
Then,  while  the  old  man,  short  of  breath, 
gasped  the  lines  and  gesticulated  in 
146 


Wee    Macgreegor 

frightsome  fashion,  did  Macgregor  stand 
with  rising  hair,  open  mouth,  and  start- 
ing eyeballs,  quaking  with  delicious 
terror.  And  hardly  had  the  words  "a 
sinner's  soul  was  lost"  left  the  reader's 
lips  when  the  boy  was  exclaiming: 

"Dae  anither  recite,  granpaw,  dae 
anither  recite!"  , 

"Na,  na,  laddie.     Nae  mair." 

"Aw,  ay.  Jist  anither.  Dae  the  yin 
aboot  the  man  that  stabbit  the  ither 
man  wi'  a  jaggy  knife,  an'  hut  him  wi'  a 
stane,  an'  pit  him  in  the  watter,  an' 
wis  fun'  oot,  an'  got  the  nick.  Dae 
that  yin." 

After  a  little  rest  Grandpa  Purdie  was 
prevailed  upon  to  read  "Eugene  Aram's 
Dream,"  at  the  close  of  which  he  suggest- 
ed that  Macgregor  should  give  a  recita- 
tion. 

"I'll  gi'e  ye  a  penny,  Macgreegor," 
he  said,  encouragingly. 

"An'  I'll  gi'e  ye  anither,"  said  John. 

"An'  I've  a  poke  o'  mixed  ba's," 
added  Grandma  Purdie. 

"Naw,  I  canna,"  said  Macgregor. 

"Come  awa',  ye  can  dae  it  fine,"  said 
his  father.  "Dae  the  recite  yer  maw 


Wee    Macgreegor 

teached  ye  aboot  the  laddie  on  the  burn- 
in'  boat." 

"It  wis  an  awfu'  job  gettin'  him  to 
learn  it,"  remarked  Lizzie. 

"Weel,  let's  hear  a'  aboot  it,"  said 
Mr.  Purdie. 

"Och,  it's  a  daft  recite,  an'  I  canna 
mind  it,"  returned  Macgregor. 

"Ah,  but  we're  a'  wantin'  to  hear  it," 
said  Grandma  Purdie.  "  Come  awa',  like 
a  clever  laddie." 

"Ye  can  mind  it  fine,"  remarked  Liz- 
zie. "  Ye  needna  be  sae  blate." 

"I've  a  thrupny-bit  in  ma  purse," 
said  Mr.  Purdie. 

"Dod,  I've  yin,  tae,"  said  John. 

The  bribery  was  too  much  for  Mac- 
gregor. "I'll  dae  't!"  he  exclaimed. 

Every  one  applauded  except  Aunt 
Purdie,  who  muttered  something  about 
"bringing  up  children  foolishly." 
Whereupon  Lizzie  murmured  some- 
thing about  "talkin'  o'  bringin'  up 
weans  when  ye  hivna  got  ony,"  an 
observation  which  the  other  pretended 
she  did  not  hear. 

"I'll  no'  dae  the  yin  aboot  the  burnin' 
boy,"  said  Macgregor,  suddenly. 
148 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Weel,  dae  anither,"  said  his  grand- 
father. 

"He  disna  ken  anither,"  his  mother 
interposed.  "It  tuk  me  six  month  to 
learn  him  the — " 

"Ay,  I  ken  anither.  I  learnt  it  frae 
Wullie  Thomson,"  her  son  interrupted. 

"  Whit's  it  aboot?" 

"I'll  no'  tell  till  I  recite  it." 

"Recite  it,  then." 

Macgregor  put  his  hands  behind  his 
back,  and,  after  several  false  starts  and 
giggles,  delivered  the  following: 

"  Yin,  twa,  three — 
My  mither  catched  a  flea. 
We  roastit  it,  an'  toastit  it, 
An'  had  it  to  wur  tea." 

"That's  a'  I  ken,"  he  concluded,  burst- 
ing out  laughing. 

His  grandparents  and  his  father 
laughed  too,  and  Lizzie  would  have 
joined  them  had  it  not  been  for  Aunt 
Purdie. 

With  a  face  of  disgust,  that  lady,  hold- 
ing up  her  hands,  exclaimed,  "Sich  vul- 
garity!" 

Lizzie  appeared  to  swallow  something 
ii  149 


Wee    Macgreegor 

before  she  quietly  said:  "Micht  I  be  as 
bold  as  to  speir,  Mrs.  Purdie,  if  ye  refer 
to  ma  son,  Macgreegor,  or  to  the  words 
o'  the  pome  he  recitit  the  noo?" 

"T — to  the  words,  of  course,  Mrs. 
Robison,"  returned  Aunt  Purdie,  has- 
tily. 

"That's  a'  richt,  Mrs.  Purdie,"  Lizzie 
said,  with  disagreeable  pleasantness. 
"I'm  gled  to  hear  ye  referred  to  the 
words.  H'm!  Ay!" 

Aunt  Purdie  opened  her  mouth,  but 
fortunately  the  arrival  of  her  husband 
just  then  prevented  her  speaking. 

Robert  Purdie  wr,s  a  big,  genial  man, 
and  he  had  Macgregor  up  on  his  shoul- 
der before  he  had  been  in  the  room  a 
minute.  The  boy  loved  his  uncle,  and 
always  associated  him  with  large  bags 
of  what  are  known  to  some  people  as 
"hair-ile"  mixtures — softish  sweets  with 
pleasing  flavors,  reminiscent  of  a  bar- 
ber's saloon. 

"Ha'e  ye  been  behavin'  yersel',  Mac- 
greegor?" inquired  Uncle  Purdie,  pres- 
ently. 

"Ay,"  replied  the  youngster,  while  his 
aunt  glowered. 

150 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Aweel,"  said  the  big  man,  putting 
him  gently  on  the  floor,  "awa'  an'  see 
whit  ye  can  fin'  in  ma  coat  pooch  oot  in 
the  lobby." 

With  a  cry  of  rapture  Macgregor  fled 
from  the  parlor.  He  was  sampling  the 
"poke"  when  his  mother  joined  him, 
having  announced  her  intention  to  the 
company  of  seeing  if  wee  Jeannie  slept. 
"Dearie,  ye're  no'  to  say  thon  again," 
she  said. 

"Whit,  maw?" 

"Thon  pome,  dearie." 

"Whit  wey,  maw?" 

"Jist  because  I  dinna  want  ye  to 
say  "t." 

"Weel,  I'll  no',"  replied  Macgregor, 
with  his  mouth  full. 

"That's  ma  ain  laddie." 

"Maw,  d'  ye  ken  whit  I  wud  like  to 
gi'e  Aunt  Pur  die?" 

"A  pickle  sweeties,"  suggested  Lizzie, 
trying  to  smile. 

"  Naw.  I  wud  like  to  gi'e  her  a  daud 
on  the  neb  twicet." 


XIV 

N'  a'  ye've  got  to  dae,"  said  Lizzie, 
laying  the  Fireside  Companion  in 
her  lap  and  beginning  another  spell  of 
knitting,  "is  jist  to  licht  the  wee  stove, 
an'  the  eggs  hatches  theirsel's.  Maist 
extraornar',  is  't  no',  John?" 

"Dod,  ay,"  returned  John.  "Whit 
did  ye  say  they  ca'ed  it,  wumman? 
Cremation  o'  chickens?  Eh?" 

"Incubation,  John,"  his  wife  replied, 
after  a  glance  at  the  page.  "It's  the 
heat  that  gars  the  chickens  come  oot." 

"Whit  wey  dae  the  chickens  no'  come 
oot  when  ye  bile  the  eggs,  paw?"  in- 
quired Macgregor,  quitting  the  square 
blocks  of  wood  with  which  he  h°d  been 
building  "wee  hooses"  on  the  kitchen 
floor,  and  advancing  to  his  father's  knee. 

"Speir  at  yer  maw,  Macgreegor," 
said  John,  laughing.  "Ye're  the  yin 
fur  questions!" 

"Maw,  whit  wey — " 
152 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"I'm  thinkin'  it's  aboot  time  ye  wis 
in  yer  bed,  dearie,"  his  mother  observed. 

"But  whit  wey  dae  the  chickens 
no'—" 

"Aweel,  ye  see,  if  they  wis  comin'  oot 
then  they  wud  shin  be  droondit,"  she 
said,  hastily.  "  Gi'e  yer  paw  a  kiss  noo, 
an'—" 

"Ay,  but  whit  wey — " 

"Bilin*  watter  wud  be  ower  muckle 
het  fur  the  puir  wee  tewkies,"  she  added, 
seeing  that  the  boy  was  persistent. 
"  Ye've  got  to  gar  the  wee  tewkies  think 
the  auld  hen's  settin'  on  them,  dearie." 

"If  I  wis  to  pit  an  egg  on  the  hob, 
wud  a  wee  tewky  come  oot,  maw?" 

"Na,  na!  That  wud  shin  roast  it. 
Ye've  got  to  keep  it  nice  an'  cosy,  but 
no'  ower  warm;  jist  like  yersel'  when 
ye're  in  yer  bed.  D'  ye  see?" 

"Ay,  maw.  .  .  .  But  I'm  no'  wearit 
yet." 

"Let  him  bide  a  wee,  Lizzie,"  said 
the  indulgent  John.  "  Did  ye  ever  hear 
tell,"  he  went  on  with  a  twinkle  in  his 
eye,  "  o'  the  hen  that  fun'  an  aix  an  sat 
on  it  fur  a  fortnicht,  tryin'  fur  to 
hatchet?" 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Hoots!"  murmured  his  wife,  smiling 
to  please  him. 

"Did  the  hen  no'  cut  itsel',  paw?" 
asked  his  son,  gravely. 

"Dod,  I  never  thocht  o'  that,  Mac- 
greegor," his  father  answered,  grinning. 

"It  was  a  daft  kin'  o'  hen  onywey," 
said  the  boy,  scornfully. 

"Aw,  it  jist  done  it  fur  a  bawr,"  said 
John,  by  way  of  apology. 

"Noo,  Macgreegor,  yer  time's  up," 
his  mother  remarked,  with  a  shake  of 
her  head. 

"I'm  no'  wearit,  maw." 

"Are  ye  no'?  An'  whit  wey  wis  ye 
yawnin"  the  noo,  ma  mannie?" 

"I  wisna  yawnin'." 

"Whit  wis  ye  daein'  then?" 

"I — I  wis  jist  openin'  ma  mooth, 
maw." 

"Och,  awa'  wi'  ye,  laddie!  Jist  open- 
in'  yer  mooth,  wis  ye?  Deed,  yer 
e'en's  jist  like  twa  beads  wi'  sleep.  I 
seen  ye  rubbin'  them  fur  the  last  hauf- 
'oor.  Ay,  fine  ye  ken  it's  Wee  Wullie 
Winkie,  ma  dearie." 

"Aw,  Lizzie,  the  wean's  fine,"  put  in 
John,  as  he  cut  himself  a  fresh  fill  of  to- 


Wee    Macgreegor 

bacco.  "  Come  here,  Macgreegor,  an'  get 
a  wee  cuddle  afore  ye  gang  to  yer  bed." 
"Na,"  said  Lizzie,  firmly.  "He'll 
gang  to  sleep  on  yer  knee,  an'  then  I'll 
ha'e  a  nice  job  gettin'  him  to  his  bed. 
Here,  Macgreegor,  till  I  tak'  aff  yer 
collar.  .  .  .  Noo,  see  if  ye  can  louse  yer 
buits.  .  .  .  Mercy  me!  if  that's  no'  an- 
ither  hole  in  yer  stockin'.  Luk  at  his 
heel,  John.  Ye're  jist  a  pair,  the  twa  o' 
ye!  Ye're  baith  that  sair  on  yer  stock 
in's.  If  it's  no  the  heels,  it's  the  taes; 
an'  if  it's  no'  the  taes,  it's  the  soles;  an' 
if  it's  no'  the  soles,  it's —  Aweel,  I've 
darned  them  afore,  an'  I  daursay  I'll 
darn  them  again,"  she  concluded,  with  a 
philosophic  smile,  and  stooped  to  assist 
Macgregor,  who  was  struggling  with  a 
complicated  knot  in  the  lace  of  his  sec- 
ond boot. 

"John,"  said  Lizzie  two  morningc, 
later — it  happened  to  be  Sunday — "I 
canna  get  Macgreegor  to  rise.  He's1 
sayin'  he's  no'  weel." 

"Eh!"  exclaimed  her  husband,  lay- 
ing down  his  razor  "No"  weel?  I 
maun  see — " 

155 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"No*  the  noo,  John.  I  think  he 3 
sleepin'  again.  But — but  wis  ye  gi'ein' 
him  ony  sweeties  when  ye  tuk  him  oot- 
bye  yesterday  efternune?" 

"Naw,  Lizzie.  Ye  seen  a'  he  got 
yersel'.  Jist  thon  wee  bit  taiblet.  Is 
he  feelin'  seeck?" 

"He  said  he  wisna  seeck,  but  jist  no' 
weel.  He's  no'  lukin'  ill-like,  but  I'm 
no'  easy  in  ma  mind  aboot  him." 

"I — I  gi'ed  him  a  penny  yesterday," 
said  her  husband,  after  an  awkward 
pause. 

"Aw,  John!" 

"But  he  said  he  wudna  spend  it  on 
sweeties — an'  I'm  shair  he  didna." 

"Maybe  he  bocht  pastry.  Whit  fur 
did  ye  gi'e  him  the  penny?" 

"He  askit  fur  it.  Maybe  he's  jist 
a  wee  thing  wearit,  Lizzie." 

Mrs.  Robinson  shook  her  head  and 
opened  a  cupboard  door. 

"Are  ye  gaun  to  gi'e  him  ile?"  asked 
John. 

"Ay,  when  he's  wauken.     Oh,  John, 

John,  ye  sud  be  mair  discreet,  an*  no' 

gi'e  Macgreegor  a'   he  asks  fur.     But 

get  yer  shavin'  dune,  an'  come  to  yer 

156 


Wee    Macgreegor 

breakfast.  Ye  didna  see  wee  Jeannie's 
flannen  petticoat,  did  ye?  Her  red  yin, 
ye  ken?  I  canna  lay  ma  haun'  on  it, 
an'  I'm  shair  it  was  aside  her  ither  claes 
when  we  gaed  to  wur  beds." 

"Naw,  I  didna  see  it,"  John  replied, 
dully,  and  sadly  resumed  his  shaving. 

"It's  maist  aggravatin',"  murmured 
Lizzie.  "  I  doot  I'm  lossin'  ma  mem'ry. 
.  .  .  Did  ma  doo  no'  get  on  her  braw 
new  flannen  petticoat?"  she  inquired 
of  her  daughter,  who,  however,  appear- 
ed quite  happy  in  her  old  garment, 
sitting  on  a  hassock  and  piping  on  a 
horn  spoon  which  had  a  whistle  in  its 
handle.  "  Wee  Jeannie's  breid  an'  mulk's 
near  ready  noo,"  she  added,  whereupon 
wee  Jeannie  piped  with  more  zest  than 
ever. 

After  breakfast  Lizzie  interviewed  her 
son,  who  was  again  awake. 

"Are  ye  feelin'  better  noo,  dearie?" 

"Naw." 

"Whit's  like  the  maitter?" 

"I  dinna  ken.  I  dinna  want  to  rise, 
maw." 

Lizzie  refrained  from  referring  to  the 
penny  that  had  done  the  harm.  "I 
157 


Wee    Macgreegor 

doot  ye're  needin'  a  taste  o'  ile,"  she 
said. 

Macgregor  kept  a  meek  silence. 

"I'll  gi'e  ye  a  wee  taste,  an'  then 
ye'll  maybe  try  an'  tak'  yer  breakfast." 

"I'll  try,  maw." 

He  took  the  dose  like  a  hero,  and 
afterwards  made  a  meal  the  heartiness 
of  which  rather  puzzled  his  mother. 
Then  he  said  he  was  going  to  have 
another  sleep. 

"John,"  said  Lizzie,  "I  canna  think 
whit's  wrang  wi'  Macgreegor.  He's  baith 
hungry  an'  sleepy.  I  wisht  I  kent  whit 
he  bocht  wi'  yer  penny.  I'm  feart  it  wis 
some  kin'  o'  pooshonous  thing.  I  think 
I'll  gang  ower  to  Mrs.  Thomson  an' 
speir  if  Wullie's  a'  richt.  Wullie  an' 
Macgreegor  wis  oot  thegither  last  nicht." 

"Aye,"  said  John.  "Maybe  he  got 
somethin'  tae  eat  frae  Wullie." 

"Maybe,  John.  ...  If  Macgreegor's 
wauken  when  I'm  awa',  ye  micht  get 
him  to  tell  ye  whit  he  dune  wi'  the 
penny.  D'  ye  see?" 

"Ay.  .  .  .  I'm  rale  vexed  aboot  the 
penny,  wumman." 

"Weel,  dearie,  ye  maun  try  an'  be 
158 


Wee    Macgreegor 

mair  discreet.  Ye  canna  expec'  a  wean 
to  be  fu'  o'  wisdom,  as  Solyman  says." 

Left  to  himself  —  Lizzie  had  taken 
wee  Jeannie  with  her — John  went  over 
to  the  bed  and  gazed  anxiously  upon 
his  son.  Presently  the  boy  opened  his 
eyes. 

"Weel,  ma  wee  man,"  said  John, 
with  an  effort  to  speak  cheerfully,  "are 
ye  fur  risin'  noo?" 

"Naw." 

"Are  ye  no'  ony  better?" 

Macgregor  languidly  signified  that  he 
was  not. 

John  cleared  his  throat.  "Whit  did 
ye  dae  wi'  the  penny  I  gi'ed  ye?"  he 
asked,  gently. 

"I  spent  it." 

"Ay.  But  whit  did  ye  spend  it  on? 
Pastry?" 

"Naw." 

John  felt  somewhat  relieved.  "  Aweel, 
tell  me  whit  ye  bocht." 

"I — I'll  tell  ye  anither  time,  paw," 
said  Macgregor,  after  considerable  hesi- 
tation. 

"Did  ye  get  ony  sweeties  efter  yer 
taiblet  yesterday?" 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Naw.  .  .  .  Can  I  get  a  wee  tate 
taiblet  noo,  paw?" 

"Deed,  I  doot  ye  canna.  Ye're  no' 
weel." 

"Ah,  but  I'm  no'  that  kin'  o'  no'  weel, 
paw." 

John  shook  his  head  sadly,  and  there 
ensued  a  long  silence. 

"Paw,"  said  Macgregor  at  last,  "hoo 
lang  dae  wee  tewkies  tak'  to  come  oot 
their  eggs?" 

"Eh?" 

The  youngster's  face  was  flushed  as 
he  repeated  the  question. 

"I'm  no'  jist  shair,  Macgreegor,"  said 
John;  "but  I  think  the  paper  yer  maw 
wis  readin'  said  it  wis  twa-three  weeks." 

"Oh!"  cried  Macgregor  in  such  a  tone 
of  dismay  that  his  father  was  startled. 

"Whit's  wrang,  Macgreegor?" 

"I  think  I'll  rise  noo,  paw,"  the  boy 
remarked,  soberly. 

"Are  ye  feelin'  better?" 

"Ay,  I'm  better." 

"Whit's  vexin'  ye,  ma  wee  man?" 
cried  John,  suddenly,  and  with  great 
tenderness. 

Macgregor  gave  a  small  snuff  and  a 
160 


Wee    Macgreegor 

big  swallow  as  his  father's  arm  went 
round  him.  "I — I  thocht  the — the 
wee  tewky  wud  come  oot  shin,"  he 
murmured,  brokenly. 

"The  wee  tewky?" 

"Ay.  But  I — I  canna  bide  in  ma 
b  —  b  —  bed  twa-three  weeks."  And 
then  from  under  the  clothes  Macgregor 
cautiously  drew  a  tiny  red  flannel  gar- 
ment, which  he  unrolled  and  laid  bare  a 
hen's  egg.  "I  gi'ed  ma  penny  fur  it, 
paw.  The  grocer  tell't  me  there  wis 
nae  tewky  in  it,  but — but  I  thocht  there 
wis,  an'  I  wis  wantin'  to — to  keep  it 
cosy,  an' — an' — " 

"Aw,  wee  Macgreegor!"  exclaimed 
John,  realizing  it  all,  but  not  even 
smiling. 

When  Lizzie  returned  and  heard  the 
tale  she  was  sympathetic,  but  not  sen- 
timental. 

"I'll  jist  bile  the  egg  fur  yer  tea, 
dearie,"  she  said. 

"I  wud  like  it  fried,  maw,"  said 
Macgregor,  who  was  rapidly  recovering 
his  spirits. 


XV 

"AN'  whit  dae  ye  say  to  yer  gran- 
f\  paw  fur  the  barra?"  inquired  Liz- 
zie of  her  son,  who  was  gazing  with 
sparkling  eyes  at  the  small  wheelbarrow 
which  Mr.  Purdie  had  just  purchased  for 
him. 

Macgregor  said  nothing,  but  he  sud- 
denly flung  himself  upon  the  old  gentle- 
man and  hugged  him  warmly. 

"Hech,  laddie!"  cried  Mr.  Purdie, 
panting  and  chuckling,  "ye'll  squeeze  a' 
the  breith  oot  o'  me.  But  I'm  rale  gled 
ye  like  yer  barra.  Yer  granny  wis  fur 
gettin'  me  to  buy  ye  a  pictur'-book, 
but — " 

"I  like  the  barra  faur  better  nor  a 
pictur'-book,"  said  Macgregor.  "Ye 
canna  gi'e  folk  hurls  in  a  pictur'- 
book." 

"Deed,  that's  vera  true.     Maybe  ye 
wud  like  to  gang  ootbye  an'  gi'e  some  o' 
yer  wee  freen's  a  bit  ride." 
162 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ay,  wud  I!"  said  Macgregor,  eagerly. 

"Aff  ye  gang,  then,"  said  John,  who 
was  looking  nearly  as  pleased  as  the 
youngster. 

"Och,  John,"  Lizzie  put  in,  "Mac- 
greegor maun  bide  a  wee.  It's  no' 
every  Setterday  efternune  his  granpaw 
comes  up  frae  Rothesay." 

"  Hoots,  toots!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Purdie, 
patting  his  grandson's  head.  "The 
laddie's  no'  to  bide  in  the  hoose  fur  me. 
Him  an'  me  11  ha'e  a  crack  anither  time. 
Eh,  Macgreegor?" 

"I  —  I'll  bide  if  ye  like,  gmnpaw," 
Macgregor  murmured,  casting  a  longing 
glance  at  his  new  treasure. 

"Na,  na,"  the  old  man  returned,  with 
a  gratified  smile  at  John  and  "Lizzie. 
"I'm  no'  gaun  awa'  fur  an  'oor  yet,  sae 
ye've  time  to  try  the  barra  and  come 
back  an'  tell  me  if  it  rins  weel." 

"Ay,  I'll  dae  that,"  said  Macgregor; 
and  obviously  relieved,  he  departed 
without  delay. 

At  the  close-mouth  he  encountered  a 

little  girl  with  whom,  for  some  time,  he 

had  been  familiar  in  rather  a  patronizing 

fashion.     On  one  occasion  he  had  chased, 

163 


Wee    Macgreegor 

away  a  small  dog  which  in  a  playful 
mood  had  caused  her  much  alarm,  and 
since  then  she  had  regarded  him  in  the 
light  of  a  hero,  and  had  somewhat  em- 
barrassed him  with  her  attentions,  for 
Macgregor  was  sorely  afraid  of  the  chaff 
of  his  boy  friends,  who,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  his  chum  Willie  Thomson,  were 
not  slow  to  make  jeering  observations 
when  they  caught  him  in  the  company 
of  his  admirer.  Therefore,  as  a  rule,  he 
passed  her  without  speaking,  or  at  most 
with  a  hurried  and  awkward  reply  to  her 
shy  but  eager  remark,  made  in  the  fond 
hope  of  interesting  him. 

But  with  his  new  wheelbarrow  he 
was  in  a  mightily  pleasant  humor,  and 
grinned  so  kindly  that  the  little  girl 
was  quite  flurried  with  pride  and  de- 
light. 

"Ha'e!"  she  said,  modestly,  present- 
ing a  tiny  packet. 

"Whit's  that?"  asked  Macgregor,  ac- 
cepting and  opening  it.  "Chokelet! 
Whaur  did  ye  get  it?" 

"  I  got  it  fur  gaun  a  message." 

"It's  awfu'  guid!  Did  ye  get  twa 
bits,  Katie?" 

164 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Na.  Jist  the  yin.  But— but  I'm 
no'  heedin'  aboot  chokelet." 

Macgregor  stopped  eating.  "  Pit  that 
in  yer  gab,"  he  said,  handing  back  half 
the  dainty.  "Whit  wey  did  ye  gi'e  it 
a'  to  me?" 

"Jist,"  said  Katie. 

"See  ma  new  barra!"  said  Macgregor, 
at  the  end  of  a  short  silence. 

"My!"  she  exclaimed,  admiringly. 

"It's  an  awfu'  fine  barra!" 

"Ay!" 

"I  got  it  frae  Granpaw  Purdie." 

"Did  ye?" 

"Ay,  did  I!  An'  I'm  gaun  to  gi'e 
folks  hurls  in  it." 

"My!" 

Macgregor  reflected  for  a  moment; 
then  remarked,  "If  ye  wis  a  laddie  I 
wud  gi'e  ye  a  hurl." 

Katie's  bright  eyes  clouded  and  her 
fair  head  drooped.  From  a  pinnacle  of 
pride  she  fell  into  the  depths  of  humilia- 
tion. She  wanted  to  say,  "I'm  no' 
heedin'  aboot  hurls!"  but  her  throat 
tightened  and  her  lip  trembled,  and  she 
remained  speechless. 

" Dae  ye  no'  wish  ye  wis  a  laddie?"  in- 


Wee    Macgreegor 

quired  Macgregor,  bending  over  his  grand 
possession  and  making  the  wheel  revolve. 

Katie  made  no  response,  and  the  boy 
rose  and  looked  up  and  down  the  street 
preparatory  to  making  the  trial  trip. 
Behind  him,  Katie  raised  the  hem  of 
her  pinafore  to  her  eyes. 

Macgregor  stepped  out  of  the  close 
and  stood  on  the  pavement,  gripping 
the  handles.  There  were  few  people 
walking  in  the  street,  and  not  one  of  his 
playmates  was  in  sight. 

Without  turning  his  head,  he  said, 
abruptly,  "Come  oot,  Katie,  an'  I'll  gi'e 
ye  a  hurl." 

Katie  took  a  step  forward  and  halted. 

Macgregor  repeated  the  invitation, 
with  a  glance  in  her  direction. 

Katie  cast  down  her  eyelashes  and 
stood  still. 

"Are  ye  no'  wantin'  a  hurl?"  he  in« 
quired,  a  trifle  impatiently. 

"Ay,"  said  Katie,  hastily,  but  witb> 
out  moving. 

"  Whit  wey  are  ye  greetin*  ?" 

"I'mno'greetin'!" 

"Ye  are  so!  Ye're  greetin'  because 
ye're  a  lassie.  Lassies  is  aye  greetin'." 
166 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"They're  no'  aye  greetin'!"  she  ex- 
claimed, in  a  flash  of  indignation.  But 
she  was  a  gentle  little  soul,  and  she  could 
not  be  cross  with  her  hero.  "I'll  no' 
greet  again,"  she  said,  humbly.  "An"  I 
wud  like  a  hurl  in  yer  nice  barra,  if  ye 
please."  She  was  too  young  to  know, 
and  he  was  too  young  to  see  the  beauty 
of  her  eyes  at  that  moment,  but  they 
looked  at  each  other,  and  their  friend- 
ship became  less  one-sided  than  it  had 
been  so  far. 

"Sit  doon  in  the  barra,  Katie,"  said 
Macgregor,  graciously. 

"Ye'll  no'  coup  me?"  said  she,  with 
an  inquiring  yet  confiding  glance. 

"Nae  fears!  I'll  no'  coup  ye!  Haud 
yer  feet  up." 

She  raised  her  feet  obediently,  and 
pulled  her  short  skirts  over  the  darns 
on  her  knees. 

"I'll  hurl  ye  to  the  corner  an'  back 
again,"  said  Macgregor. 

"Ay,"  assented  Katie,  who  was  hold- 
ing on  to  the  sides  of  the  vehicle  and 
looking  just  the  least  thing  afraid. 

They  set  off  at  a  good  pace,  and  when 
the  corner  was  reached  Katie  was  smil- 
167 


Wee    Macgreegor 

ing  fearlessly  and  enjoying  the  envi- 
ous stares  of  several  little  girls  whom 
she  chanced  to  know.  The  journey 
back  was  all  too  brief  in  its  duration, 
and  she  rose  from  the  barrow  with  un- 
disguised reluctance.  What  a  splendid 
thing  it  was  to  be  "hurled"  by  her 
hero! 

"Ye're  an  awfu'  strong  laddie,"  she 
observed,  admiringly. 

"Ay,  I'm  gey  strong,"  he  returned, 
trying  not  to  pant. 

"It  wis  awfu'  nice!"  she  murmured, 
with  a  little  sigh. 

Macgregor  spat  on  his  hands.  "Wud 
ye  like  anither  hurl?"  he  asked. 

"Ay,  wud  I.     Am  I  no'  ower  heavy?" 

"Ye're  no'  heavy  ava'.  Get  into  the 
barra,  an'  I'll  hurl  ye  to  the  ither  cor- 
ner. It's  faurer." 

Away  they  went  again  on  a  journey 
even  more  delightful  than  the  first. 
Children  scattered  before  them,  and 
grown  -  up  people  hurriedly  skipped 
against  the  wall  or  into  the  gutter, 
their  varied  remarks  being  unheard  or 
unheeded. 

"Ye're  awfu'  kind!"  said  Katie  when 
168 


Wee    Macgreegor 

they  stood  at  the  close-mouth  once 
more. 

"Och,  it's  naethin'  ava',"  returned 
Macgregor,  hot  and  happy. 

"Ah,  but  ye  are  awfu'  kind.  Ither 
laddies  is  no'  as  kind." 

"Ay,  but  ye 're  rale  kind  yersel'.  An' 
ye're  no'  as  daft  as  ither  lassies." 

It  was  a  rare  compliment,  and  Katie 
appreciated  it  too  deeply  for  words.  At 
the  end  of  half  a  minute  she  said,  softly, 
"I  like  ye  unco  weel.  .  .  .  Dae  ye  like 
me?" 

"Ay,"  admitted  Macgregor. 

"Dae  ye  like  me  unco  weel?" 

"Ay.     Wull  I  gi'e  ye  anither  hurl?" 

Katie  nodded  and  beamed  upon  him. 
She  took  her  place  in  the  barrow,  and 
Macgregor  was  just  about  to  start  off 
when  a  heavy  paw  was  laid  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  a  disagreeable  voice  said, 
"Len's  yer  barra,  an'  I'll  gi'e  the  lassie 
a  hurl." 

The  voice  was  that  of  a  great,  lumpy 
boy,  the  terror  of  the  youngsters  in  the 
vicinity  of  Macgregor 's  abode,  a  coarse 
creature,  who  never  herded  with  fellows 
of  his  own  size,  but  prowled  about 
169 


Wee    Macgreegor 

teasing  and  bullying  the  little  ones, 
and  even  annexing  their  playthings 
when  it  pleased  him  to  do  so. 

Little  Katie  looked  up  in  terror. 
"I'm  no'  wantin'  him  to  hurl  me,"  she 
cried  to  Macgregor,  who  was  white  and 
angry. 

"She's  no'  wantin'  ye  to  hurl  her," 
he  said  to  the  bully,  who  had  already 
grabbed  one  of  the  handles. 

"I'll  gi'e  her  a  faur  quicker  hurl  nor 
you,"  said  the  bully,  with  an  ugly 
laugh.  "Louse  yer  haun'!" 

"I'll  no'!" 

"I'll  shin  gar  ye  louse  it." 

"  I'm  no'  wantin'  to  len'  ye  ma  barra," 
said  Macgregor. 

Katie  rose  to  her  feet.  "Dinna  len' 
him  it,"  she  said,  making  a  face  at  the 
tormentor. 

"Gi'e's  nane  o'  yer  lip,"  said  the 
latter.  "Get  in  yersel',  Macgreegor," 
he  added,  with  an  attempt  at  pleasant- 
ness, "an'  I'll  gi'e  ye  a  graun'  hurl." 

"I'm  no'  wantin'  a  hurl  frae  you," 
said  Macgregor,  retreating  into  the  close. 

The  bully  vented  some  language 
which  need  not  be  repeated,  and  tried 
170 


Wee    Macgreegor 

to  jerk  the  barrow  from  its  owner's 
grasp.  But  Macgregor  held  on  gamely, 
and  a  desperate  struggle  occupied  about 
two  minutes,  during  which  Katie  looked 
at  her  hero  in  fear  and  trembling,  and 
longed  for  the  appearance  of  Willie 
Thomson  or  another  of  his  friends. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  nasty  cracking 
sound,  and  Macgregor  was  left  with 
one  leg  of  his  barrow  in  his  hands,  while 
the  bully  laughed  loudly  as  he  found 
himself  in  possession  of  the  remainder. 

"Ye've  broke  ma  barra,"  screamed 
the  youngster,  tears  of  rage  and  grief 
starting  to  his  eyes,  and  he  made  an 
onslaught  with  the  sundered  leg  upon 
the  villain,  who  at  first  grinned  scorn- 
fully, but  soon  found  it  necessary  to  de- 
fend himself.  Macgregor  caught  him  a 
nice  thwack  over  the  knuckles,  causing 
him  to  drop  the  barrow;  but  a  moment 
later  the  valiant  one  was  in  the  other's 
clutches  and  being  cruelly  cuffed. 

Katie  could  bear  no  more.  With  a 
cry  of  childish  wrath,  she  fell  upon  the 
bully  from  behind,  and  put  in  some 
really  effective  work  with  her  hands  and 
feet.  Still,  the  battle  might  have  been 
171 


Wee    Macgreegor 

to  the  strong  had  not  Willie  Thomson 
appeared  on  the  scene.  Willie  was  not 
muscular,  but  he  had  an  idea.  Signing 
to  Katie  to  keep  clear,  he  suddenly 
grabbed  the  bully's  right  leg,  and 
brought  him  to  the  ground  with  Mac- 
gregor  on  top.  The  latter  shook  him- 
self free,  and  stood  up  a  sorry  picture. 

The  bully  rose  with  a  roar,  and  made 
for  Willie  Thomson,  who  dashed  off,  and 
did  not  reach  his  own  door  a  second  too 
soon.  There  he  had  the  good  fortune 
to  meet  his  elder  brother,  who  adminis- 
tered to  the  bully  a  trouncing  which 
would  have  been  longer  but  for  the  arri- 
val of  a  policeman,  but  which  could  not 
have  been  stronger  while  it  lasted. 

And,  left  to  themselves,  Katie  and 
Macgregor  dissolved  in  tears.  She  was 
the  first  to  see  clearly,  and  lo !  Macgregor, 
with  his  broken  barrow,  his  bruised, 
tear-stained  countenance,  and  his  gusty 
sobs  of  pain  and  wrath — Macgregor  was 
still  her  hero. 

"Dinna  greet.  .  .  .  Never  heed,"  she 
said,  over  and  over  again,  in  her  anxiety 
to  comfort  him. 

"  Ma  barra's  broke,"  he  groaned. 
172 


Wee    Macgreegor 

"Ay,  but  it's  easy  mendit.  Wull  ye 
no'  gang  hame  to  yer  maw,  noo?" 

He  shook  his  head  and  grieved  afresh, 
though  he  hated  to  weep  in  anybody's, 
especially  in  a  girl's,  presence. 

Katie  choked,  and  recovered  herself. 
"Come,"  she  said,  gently.  "I'll  help  ye 
up  the  stair  wi'  yer  barra,  an'  I'll  tell  yer 
maw  how  thon  muckle  sumph  set  on  ye, 
an'  hoo  ye  lickit  him." 

"But — but  I — I  didna  lick  him." 

"  Aweel,  ye  vera  near  did  it.  Ye  wisna 
feart,  onywey.  I  ken  ye  wisna  feart." 

Her  words  were  balm  to  his  sore  spirit. 
But  he  was  feeling  weak  and  shaky,  and 
it  was  a  while  ere  the  tears  ceased. 

"Wipe  yer  e'en  on  ma  pinny,"  said 
Katie,  at  last;  and  somehow  he  bowed 
and  obeyed  her. 

Then  together  they  slowly  climbed 
the  stairs,  bearing  the  damaged  barrow; 
and,  waiting  for  the  door  to  open,  Katie 
spoke  softly  and  encouragingly,  while 
Macgregor  sniffed  violently  to  keep  the 
tears  from  flowing  afresh.  She  would 
fain  have  kissed  her  hero,  but  something 
forbade  her. 

THE    END 


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HON-RENEWABIE 

MAY  0  8  1991 
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